


Memento Vivere

by AliceInCandyland



Series: HP Crossovers [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Adopted Abigail Hobbs, Dark Will Graham, F/M, Family Fluff, Female Harry Potter, Female Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Harry Potter is Will Graham, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sassy Will Graham, Slow Burn, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Will Graham Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Will is a Mess, they're the same person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInCandyland/pseuds/AliceInCandyland
Summary: Pursing her lips, she then cut the stems of the flowers and put them in a chipped mug. “I want…” She drifted off.What did she want?Will wanted to be held by someone and told that everything was going to be okay. She wanted someone she could look into the eyes of, seeing their darkest parts and letting them see hers- someone that wouldn’t run away. She wanted to share her magic with someone and not have them be afraid or in awe of her because of her background. She wanted someone who had a bare minimum of banter. She wanted… intimacy.Finding her voice, she looked over with a small smile. “I want what all sappy teenagers want.”“Mmm, and what’s that? Love?”“Count Dracula, probably.” Her giggles were just as bright as his laughter, both smiling for a while even as she started to make the best of a dinner out of canned beans and microwavable chicken nuggets.
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter & Harry Potter, Hannibal Lecter/Harry Potter, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: HP Crossovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181822
Comments: 63
Kudos: 377





	1. The Warrior and the Scholar

**Author's Note:**

> Another fandom? Yup.  
> Is this going to have irregular updates and going to consist of everything from crack to angst? Absolutely.  
> Am I sorry? Nope!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I will be using canon conversations from Hannibal (the TV show) in this story, but I do not own any of its characters, the show's dialogue, or anything from canon. :)

"It is… hard today." Hazel Potter lingered by the window of Draco's office. Held her body stiff, with her hands at her sides, and didn't look at her friend.

"Any why is that, Hazelnut?"

Perhaps it was a breach of normal Healer-Patient roles, but it worked with them as their sessions were more like conversations anyway. She’d never let him into her mind and he’d never asked.

Her hands clenched and then unclenched rhythmically. "I feel _everything_. I looked into a muggle's eyes today and almost forgot who I was because I was so overwhelmed with being him." Sometimes she wondered if she was cursed- if bringing this back from the dead was worth coming back at all. She spoke her next thought. "Sometimes… I want to go somewhere no one knows me."

Draco was silent for a moment. "I will remind you when you forget, but you’re nineteen. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you." His voice was soft, telling her what she needed to hear. "You have time and space to breathe, Hazelnut. Can you do that for me? Can you take a deep breath?"

Sucking in a slow shaky inhale of warm air, she felt tears on her cheeks.

"It's okay." Her friend’s voice was a murmur as she leaned against a nearby bookshelf and cried. "It’s okay to feel young and uncertain about things." 

It wasn’t the truth, but she allowed it, breathed it in and out like a mantra.

_No matter how ‘okay’, none of them would ever_ ** _be_** _young again-_ would be the truth.

But that was unsatisfying, so she stuck with Draco’s version.

"Kingsley, he…" Her eyes stayed closed, voice hoarse. "He said that they want to use me. I- I would be going out to look at the worst of it, telling them what they need to know."

_What she knew because of her gift. What was whispered to her, what she was shown, what was created for her like lovely little gifts of blood and gore._

Draco hummed almost absentmindedly. "I think you should go outside. Get some air. Maybe move somewhere with a lot of open space- just breathe and listen to the sounds of the world moving without your help. The world _is_ able to turn without you pushing it along, Hazelnut."

It wouldn’t be comforting to most- most people tended not to like the idea that in their absence time would keep on keeping on, but to her it was soothing. Because if the world could turn without her, then she could stay here with Draco a moment longer. 

And maybe, she could finally know peace.

"Kingsley isn't going to be happy that was your advice."

"He can deal with it. I don't report to him anymore." Draco’s grin was quick and sharp.

All of the DA members that were still alive were dangerous. It was a fact plain and simple. They had all been tempered into weapons by hellfire during and after the war, as the cleanup and aftermath had been just as bad as the beginning. Some, like Draco, had hidden their sharpness behind helping others or throwing themselves into a field of study while the cleanup was going on. Others like Theodore Nott, who was now a hit-wizard, had accepted their sharpness and used it to their advantage. 

Hazel was somewhere in the middle- too sharp and yet unwilling to try to dull it with use.

She looked out the window at the trees that were starting to shed their leaves before winter as if they were undressing before bed. "I think…” Her words were soft. “I'll study to be a Professor."

"If that's what you want."

It was. She'd always liked teaching. 

Plus, being known for being smart would let her get away with not looking in people’s eyes, let it be passed off as a quirk.

It was sort of funny to her, sitting here.

Funny in the way that the table was full of crime lords and dangerous killers, all looking at her with unease, but they were still warier of the man next to her than the ‘Girl-Who-Won’ and she didn’t blame them. But it still curled her lips up slightly in amusement. “‘Would you pass me the salad?”

Blaise Zabini, terrifying in his ruthlessness and the way he’d gotten the magical underworld suffocating in an iron grip, took the bowl and handed it to her easily. His smile was not particularly warm, but she knew he tried for her, so she accepted it easily. His tone was mocking but held no heat. “Still not looking people in the eyes, Hazel?”

“Still eating your enemies’ hearts, Blaise?” Her tone was idle as if she was talking about the weather. 

The man- _none of them would ever be young ever again-_ laughed darkly and then leaned over to push a lock of inky hair behind her ear, probably so he could see her face better. “Touché.”

Hazel batted his hand away, uncaring that it was disrespectful. He could try to kill her if he wanted, but she somehow doubted it would stick.

The man just laughed, then turned to talk to his other ‘friends.’

When it got late and the manor was clear of ‘friends’ and ‘company’, she stood out on the balcony of the massive manor with him, tilting her head back so she could look at the stars. “Draco said I should move. Leave. Run away and never come back.”

“Did he?” He had a glass of wine in his hands, like usual, but didn’t drink as she had turned down a glass and he was nothing if not full of (in her opinion,) unnecessary manners.

“In not so many words.” They stood there, Hazel not wanting to ask, and Blaise knowing she will have to eventually. But like always, she eventually gave in to fate. “He’s dying... isn’t he?”

She’d known since she stepped into that office.

Blaise looked out at the elegant gardens of his Manor. Since they were talking alone and about a friend, this was as close to ‘soft’ as the man got, voice a low rumble. “Draco’s condition is genetic. It’s a particular brand of Dragonpox that can be delayed, but it is ultimately fatal in the end.” When she closed her eyes, he reached over and rested a warm hand over her arm. “He wanted you to figure out on your own, though he was hoping that he could convince you to move away so you didn’t have to see him die.”

“ _Idiot_ .” Her cheeks were wet, voice choked. “He- he should have _told_ me.”

The hand on her arm squeezed, pulling away. “I think you should move to Italy. Mother would love to have you over for dinner.”

He left her on the balcony, his kindness seeming to have taken its toll on him, and she wondered why she came back to life at all if she couldn't even keep the people she loved with her.

"I heard you're thinking about leaving."

"It wasn't-" Hazel instantly started to jump to her own defense, Teddy in her arms, but Andromeda cut her off with a stern look.

The woman was preparing dinner while she kept the small boy entertained, the small house having a solid grounding presence that she couldn’t help but come back to time and time again. Plus Andromeda’s eyes didn’t hold anything other than grief and Hazel knew that feeling too well to drown in it, so she found the woman was always good company for her. 

"I think it's a good idea."

Hazel was almost too shocked for words, opening her mouth but not knowing what to say. 

Andromeda continued. “You’ve already talked to everyone else and I know they’re on board with it, so it’s not hard to guess that you think that you’re obligated to stay for Teddy’s sake.” Steel grey eyes fixed on her like knives. “Forget that. You are as much an orphan of this war and you deserve to be happy too.”

“But I-”

“You need something new. You don’t have to explain, Hazel. I understand- I’ve been there.” The woman then sighed. “Just… think about it. You know Teddy won’t have a single problem, with or _without_ you here.”

She knew.

All her friends- the whole makeshift family- loved Teddy. He was already the face of the new generation and even the public adored him. Should he get hurt, she was sure the remaining DA would burn the world to its knees, with or without her.

For a moment that thought was staggering in its relief.

_Could the world go on without Hazel Potter?_

Draco died.

And while the UK mourned the loss of the public figure that had helped end the war, Hazel cut her hair to her shoulders, sold Grimmauld Place, and then disappeared into the night.

She was ready to find somewhere she could shed this weight on her shoulders.

Stepping off a plane, nineteen-years-old, she rented a small room in Louisiana and worked on boat motors as she tried to master blending in. Her biggest help had been the funny old man that she was renting space from, knowing by his general presence that he wasn’t a danger to her, as he helped her adjust to America as best she could.

Jonah Graham was also the one who let her use his name, more than willing to falsify the documents with her to become someone else when she explained who she was (with him making a vow to keep her secrets, of course).

Thus Willow Hazel Graham was born, already having the habit of not looking anyone in the eyes and preferring the name ‘Will’ to ‘Willow’.

And even as she hid from the magical world, each year she’d send off a letter- the only ones she ever sent anymore- to Andromeda and Teddy, knowing they’d only show it to those that were close family.

Jonah taught her how to fish, what to wear to not give off ‘foreign’ vibes, and how to shoot a gun.

Will, in turn, slowly taught him Latin, though she forwent all other magic- unwilling to acknowledge the way she’d felt the feelings of someone else echo back into her like the way she knew when Jonah was upset some days by the way he held his shoulders. 

Her gift was not invited, nor given space in her brain.

_She wasn’t young, but she would try to be, if just for the sake of blending in._

It seemed one of the young men in the town took a shine to her, giving her flowers and trying to be charming.

Jonah had laughed when she told him this in a sort of puzzled and partly-disgusted voice, holding the flowers as if they were a foreign object. (They were.) 

Last she remembered getting flowers was when Neville had gotten her carnivorous lilies he’d bred. These store-bought flowers with no magic, sagging under the weight of their own ugliness, were not appealing to her at all.

_The gift of watching something die slowly. Wow. Thanks._

“Don’t you wantta get a husband someday?” The older man smiled at her, oil on his cheek, seeming in a lighter mood than he had a second ago as if her disgruntlement was amusing to him.

Pursing her lips, she then cut the stems of the flowers and put them in a chipped mug so they wouldn’t go to _complete_ waste. “I want…” She drifted off.

_What did she want?_

Will wanted to be held by someone, told that everything was going to be okay. She wanted someone she could look into the eyes of- seeing their darkest parts and letting them see hers- someone that wouldn’t run away. She wanted to share her magic with someone and not have them be afraid or in awe of her because of her background. She wanted someone who had a bare minimum of banter. She wanted… intimacy.

Finding her voice, she looked over with a small smile. “I want what all sappy teenagers want.”

“Mmm, and what’s that? Love?”

“Count Dracula, probably.” Her giggles were just as bright as his laughter, both smiling for a while even as she started to make the best of a dinner out of canned beans and microwavable chicken nuggets.

Her lips curved up fondly. _Draco would be appalled._

Will went on a single date with the guy that had been giving her flowers. 

He tried to touch her without her permission and she almost broke his hand, instincts from the war leftover and humming under her skin. 

Looking at him with piercing green eyes she’d found were even more _bright-deadly-poisonous_ since she died in the forest after the war, staring into his soul, she just told him that he was going to die alone and went about her day.

Again she claimed the title of ‘freak’ to her peers, as the boy had slandered her name, except this time it didn’t hurt as much when they spit it at her because she didn’t actually care. Plus, it hurt more the first time around when she hadn’t been able to compare it to the torture curse. 

_Merlin, her bar for being okay was low._

Lucky for the people that called her that name, her darkness was wrapped into a pretzel, too busy gnawing at itself in self-loathing to notice those trying to poke it.

‘Prude’, ‘maneater’, and ‘whore’ followed quickly behind, her dancing stride taken as ‘sexy’ rather than ‘strange’. In turn, she quickly learned how to find a steady balance between graceful and unnoticeable, making sure to make noise when she walked.

Silent steps drew too much attention.

At twenty, having kept the whole world away from her darkness for three whole years she decided to let it breathe a little easier- loosen its reins a bit.

Will got into the Police Academy in New Orleans easily.

It was a blessing and a curse that helped her to advance from ‘rookie’ to an actual Detective, as the only eyes she ever found herself meeting were dead ones. At least the dead wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about the darkness she had hidden away in her chest, shining through in her eyes.

With time, working her way up in the police department, she found her mind spinning more and more elaborate images of death and gore.

She just perfected the ability to find a place outside so she could talk out her secrets to the air as if she could talk to it, taking scalding hot baths, and having chocolate on her at all times.

It was almost impressive how low her bar for being ‘fine’ was.

Jonah died.

He’d left her what little money he had and a dog he’d named ‘Buster’.

Buster was wonderful company, for all he was an animal that didn’t care who she was as long as she fed him. And he was adorable, so that was that.

She had someone to lay with her, and even though the dog wasn’t able to tell her she was alright or bundle her in blankets until she felt human, she loved him anyway.

Sirius and Remus would have been amused at her choice of companion, at least.

It stung, getting stabbed.

Not like the all-consuming agony of the torture curse and she got a few looks for looking at the knife stuck in her shoulder in consideration for just a pause before knocking the man who had stabbed her onto his knees, but that was neither here nor there.

Will did get some flack for not shooting him _because what if he'd killed her_ , but she’d looked into the man’s eyes and had seen herself as if in a cracked mirror.

And then she’d been unable to pull the trigger, feeling the man’s pain and loneliness like a crashing wave. 

At the hospital, her boss looked at her firmly and told her that maybe she needed to look into other lines of work. He included a few curse words and it had been more like a rant, but she got the general gist.

She went to the man’s trial, watched his remorse for killing his wife with faint sympathy, and then decided she wanted to leave the state.

Will went back to college at George Washington University in D.C., working on a double major in human anthropology and forensic science. Then for fun, she got her doctorate in ancient history, for her own amusement.

Draco had been a doctor and she’d always joked that since doctors usually married other doctors, that she’d have to get her doctorate too.

And now she had.

Her chest _ached._

Will found amusement working with a museum in D.C. and helping to translate some of their oldest tablets and scrolls- and though translation charms felt a bit like cheating, she’d never been one to shy away from something that could be taken as a big prank. 

She published a few papers and the translations were accredited to her through a pen name.

Doctor Niccola Drago.

_Really, she found herself funnier than she actually was, as no one else would understand the joke._

Otherwise, she found a house in Virginia- _smiling in dark humor as she wondered what Remus would think if he knew she was living in a town called ‘Wolf Trap’_ \- and then applied to the FBI.

Doctor Alana Bloom, who did her psych eval, was fairly nice- she had at least taken Will out for coffee after rejecting her on the basis that she was sort of ‘unstable’. Though she was sure that was because she had risked looking the woman in the eyes, even for a moment.

Eventually, she was hired as a Professor in the academy, and she found herself rather grateful for the job. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Draco she liked teaching.

She just wished that she was better at Occlumency.

Alana was good company with a quiet sense of humor she appreciated and though she was hesitant to look her in the eyes, they had gotten to the stage where she spared the woman glances occasionally. 

The woman had taken her out for a drink one night, but when they were walking to her car she spotted a green light and hit the ground, ducking behind a barrier and curling in on herself when she heard loud explosions.

_They’d found her-_

_The Death Eaters-_

_She would have to fight-_

_Draco-_

_Where was Draco?_

_No-_

_No, he had to be here-_

“Will?”

_Oh, god-_

_Not again-_

_No- no- no- no- no-_

A hand pushed her hand to the side, another hand shaking her shoulder. “Will!”

Her eyes were wide, looking at the woman in front of her- _Who-_ then she blinked and realized she was shaking, curled up behind a car, people looking at her in fear and she almost choked on the _pity_ in the air _._

“Sorr-sorry, I…” Slowly, she let Alana help her up, still shaking. “What-...”

“Fireworks, Will.” Alana was looking at her but she didn’t look up from where her hands balled into the fabric of her jeans. The woman’s voice was unnaturally soft. “It’s the Fourth of July…”

Nodding, she ran shaking hands through her hair. “I- I have to go. Home.”

“Will-” The voice was soft, but she was already walking away, hands fumbling with her keys. Something made a loud noise and she flinched violently, throwing up a silencing charm around her car so she could breathe through the panic.

Panic was usual. 

Panic was something she could deal with.

And if she found herself getting five stays in the next three days, then that was because dogs didn’t like fireworks either and she’d have an excuse. 

She also moved her bed to the main floor and shut a few of the rooms and the whole upper floor so she could see almost all her living space no matter where in her house she was, carving wards into the corners of the houses and under the window stills against those with ill intent- but that was normal, right?

_(Paranoia had always been a good friend.)_

Another lecture.

Another set of dead eyes where she could feel this life still leaving the victim.

Another day where she knew her students sat at the edge of their seats as her soft voice spun images into their heads, letting them see what she did, if just for a moment.

Will finished and clicked off the projector, the students knowing by now that meant she was done, starting to file out as she packed up.

There was a figure out of the corner of her eye and she caught a glimpse of a black suit, reaching for her glasses. She didn’t need them, but she had placed strong translation charms over them, plus they had runes to both help her occlumency and to return to her if lost. They were her veil to the world, helping her keep everything out and away from her. 

“Miss Graham.” The man finally approached and she glanced at his chin as he held out a hand. “Special Agent Jack Crawford. I head the Behavioral Science Unit.” He was a few inches taller than her and had a lot more of what Jonah would call ‘meat on his bones’, almost reminding her of Kingsley.

She wondered if he was as much of a hard-ass as Kings. 

Glancing at his hand, she wet her lips and hoped he would be respectful of her space at least. “We’ve met.” 

Thankfully he dropped his hand without complaint. “Yes. We had a disagreement when we opened up the museum.” 

“I disagreed with what you named it.” 

“The, uh, Evil Minds Research Museum?” The man’s voice sounded amused.

Will prickled slightly, fidgeting with her bag and wishing she had a cup of tea. She just nodded, not wanting to open her mouth and accidentally find herself telling the man that he had no idea what true evil was. He had never faced a horde of dementors or held a Horcrux around his neck for months while trying to survive in the wild off of the bare minimum.

The man merely got a bit closer into her space, poking around at her podium and looking at her as if his intent gaze would force her to look him in the eyes. “I see you’ve hitched your horse to a teaching post... and I also understand it’s difficult for you to be social.” 

Wondering if the point was to intimidate her, she didn’t let herself move, even if her gaze flickered across the man to assess him. “Well, I’m just talking at them. I’m not listening to them.” She huffed ruefully. “It’s not social.”

“I see. May I?” He reached up to adjust her glasses but paused when she flinched back, dropping his hand when she corrected them herself quickly. “And where do you fall on the spectrum? 

_The spectrum. How… lovely. Another person that believed she was a mix of personality disorders instead of a person._

She knew the answer she’d given before though and said it with no small amount of bitterness. “My horse is hitched to a post that is closer to Asperger’s and autistics than narcissists and sociopaths.” 

“But you can empathize with narcissists and sociopaths.” He was reaching.

“I can empathize with anybody.” She could feel his own curiosity, even without looking into his eyes. It would soon turn to irritation. It almost always did. “It’s less to do with a personality disorder than an... active imagination.” It sounded duller every time she said it.

She would say she could _understand_ anyone, as though she could feel base emotions most of the time and could see _why_ people did things, she didn't always _agree-_ but that took too much explaining and words were hard.

When she turned, an arm was held out and she stilled before she could help it, glancing his way for just a second.

If he saw the deathly green glow of the killing curse trapped in her eyes, he didn’t seem phased by it. “I would like… to borrow your imagination.”

Jack explained while they walked. 

Eight girls missing from Minnesota college campuses. (Which she sort of already knew, as word traveled fast within the FBI when it came to strings of missing children, even if lacking hard details of the cases.)

Only… “I thought there were seven.”

Jack Crawford seemed almost surprised. “There were.”

Will frowned slightly. “When did you tag the eighth?”

“About three minutes before I walked into your lecture hall.”

So she was helping them try to play catch-up, as they were probably being pressed for time with so many missing girls, especially if they were taken from college campuses where they were sure to have worried family bothering the FBI about their progress. 

Good to know.

Even with her heels and semi-professional clothing that was sort of expected for the professors at the academy, hair pinned up like Daphne had got her used to going, she still got looks- probably for the worn suit jackets she wore that were just slightly too long on her smaller frame. She disregarded such looks- they were Remus’s clothes she’d gotten after the war and she wouldn’t give them up.

Plus, they made her look more unassuming and awkward- less noticeable.

Her bag slung over her shoulder, she felt Jack’s look at her and felt his faint bewilderment for her person in general, just keeping them on the real subject of concern here. “You’re calling them abductions because you don’t have any bodies?”

“No bodies, no parts of bodies, nothing that comes out of bodies. Nothing.”

She smiled grimly at that. “Then those girls weren’t taken from where you think they were taken.”

“Then where were they taken?”

Wanting to snap at him that she wasn’t a seer, that this was more about skill than her gift at the moment, she just frowned slightly. “I don’t know. Someplace else.”

Jack directed her to what looked like his office where a large corkboard was displaying the pictures of the missing girls and a map of where they’d been taken from.

All of the girls had gone missing over weekends, meaning it took the unsub a weekend to kill or maim or do _something_ to them. 

All of the girls were fairly the same type- hair color, eye color, weight, height, etc. 

And all of the girls… were already dead. She knew it, looking into the eyes of the portraits- she knew that they’d crossed the veil already.

Will was handed a photo, her voice soft. “Number eight?” 

“Elise Nichols. St. Cloud State on the Mississippi. Disappeared on Friday. Was supposed to house sit for her parents over the weekend, feed the cat.” Jack barreled on through the information dump. “She never made it home.”

Sliding off her glasses and clicking the arms closed, she tucked them into the pocket of her suit jacket idly. “One through seven are dead, don’t you think?” Her voice leveled somewhere between ‘soft’ and ‘flat’, somewhere she could talk plainly without having to feel emotion. “He’s not keeping them around. He got himself a new one.”

_Treated like objects- like the little toy soldiers that Dudley used to break and throw out like they were nothing._

Jack’s voice was calm and clear, focusing her slightly. “So we focus on Elise Nichols.”

“They’re all very, um, Mall of America.” She really hoped that was the right metaphor- it was the first thing that popped into her head and she kept speaking as if to cover up that she wasn’t sure he had gotten what she was getting at. “That’s a lot of wind-chafed skin.”

“Same hair color, same eye color. Roughly the same age. Same height, same weight.”

_Thank Merlin- she hated having to explain her jumps and/or lead someone to the conclusion she'd made like holding hands with a child. At least Jack seemed to catch on quickly._

He looked at her. “So what is it about all of these girls?

“It’s not about all of these girls. It’s just about _one_ of them.” She searched for another metaphor and her brain dragged one up from late nights watching movies with Jonah when she couldn’t sleep. “He’s like Willy Wonka. Every girl he takes is a candy bar, and hidden in amongst all of those candy bars is the one true _intended_ victim, which, if we follow through on our metaphor, is your golden ticket.” 

Her eyes went back to the photos, catching on one with slightly shorter dark hair and for a second she saw Pansy in the girl’s eyes, breath stilling for just a moment.

Jack looked at her and her brain raced almost frantically to catch up to what he said- _something about reliving something?_

Will shook her head. “The golden ticket wouldn’t be the first taken, and she wouldn’t be the last. He would, um, hide how special she was.” She hoped that was what the man asked, voice coming out a bit defensive as she started to turn away. “I mean, I would. Wouldn’t you?”

“I want you to get closer to this.”

Grabbing the bag she’d put down, she turned herself away from the board of lost spirits. _And that was her cue._ “No. You have Heimlich at Harvard and Bloom at Georgetown. They do the same thing I do.”

“That’s not exactly true, is it?” She found herself pausing to hear what he'd say even if she already _knew_. “You have a very specific way of thinking about things.” 

“Has there been a lot of discussion about the _specific_ way I think?” Her voice was soft, tired of people trying to get into her head and pry around. Her head was her own. It was never going to be messed with again.

Jack frowned. “You make jumps you can’t explain, Willow.” 

Her jaw clenched. That was too close to calling her a seer for her liking. “No, no. The evidence explains.” Eventually, the evidence would fit what she knew, even if it was too late in some cases.

“Then help me find some evidence.” 

She could tell he was desperate and she was weak to desperate things- hence her dogs. Plus, her saving-people-thing was tingling and those girls looked too much like Pansy for her to sleep peacefully without doing _something_. Closing her eyes tightly, she nodded even if her voice was bitter. “That may require me to be sociable.”


	2. The Veil Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Canon Non-compliance starts pretty early, though as of now it's just small things- the main plot still stays mostly the same until the end of the first season

The Nichols' house smelled of death.

Will covered her face with her hand and pressed on the bridge of her nose for a moment, dropping it when she had found her balance again. Moving to the pictures on the wall, she looked into the eyes that gave her muted echoes about Elise Nichols (the last girl to go missing) without screaming at her.

She could hear Jack talking to the parents, but her eyes were focused on the photos.

_Elise's baby photos- a cheerful family, if not with a bit of tiredness in the mother’s eyes._

The mother’s voice now was also tired, filled with grief. “She looks like the other girls.”

_A photo of Elise and her father playing in a park- bright and happy._

“Yes, she fits the profile.”

_A photo of Elise running track- determined but not unhappy._

“Could Elise still be alive?”

Jack hesitated before answering in a very Slytherin way of giving a non-answer. “We simply have no way of knowing.”

Will’s eyes caught on a photo of Elise with a small grey kitten, love and excitement in the girl’s face. “How’s the cat?” Even if she didn’t mean it to, the words were like thunder in the room, even if just a mutter.

“What?” The mother’s voice was weak, laced with confusion and bewilderment (and the slightest bit of offense).

She moved away from the photos, hands in the pockets of her slacks as she studied their clothing. The smell of death was putting her off-balance and she needed to _find it_ , to get _close_ and-

Closing her eyes, she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “How’s your cat? Elise was supposed to feed it. Was the cat weird when you came home?” She could feel Jack’s patience wearing thin, looking out at the other side of the dining room they were in, speaking more as if to fill up the silence, her hand coming out to curl around the back of a chair. “It must have been hungry; it didn’t eat all weekend.”

The father made a sound as if choking, shaking his head. “I- I didn’t notice.”

Will was somehow unsurprised, just nodding and looking at Jack’s tie as wondering if he’d catch on to what she was trying to say without actually saying it. When he started to turn away and she sensed he was about to try to spare the parents for another moment, she spoke up.

_It wasn’t like she hadn’t had to tell people their loved one wasn’t coming home and the sooner they knew the better- even if it was hard._

“Your daughter was taken from this house.” She could _feel_ it. 

Jack started to call someone. 

“This is a crime scene and there will be people coming soon to canvas again- even if the local cops were here earlier, it will need to be looked over again.” Will’s voice was as empathetic as she could manage with all her atoms vibrating as if a bloodhound that had caught a scent but was being held in place forcefully. “Can I see your daughter’s room?”

The two looked stricken, the man standing shakily. “Police- Police were up there this morning.” 

_On second thought..._

Holding up her hand, she felt the man still. “If you permit me to look around, I would actually rather you stay here with your wife. Is that alright?”

Nodding, the man sat down a second later, seeming to have the wind knocked out of his sails. “It’s- it’s upstairs. Last door of the- the right hallway.”

Will nodded and turned to leave. 

The father's voice stopped her from getting more than a few steps. “How- how did you know?”

“The cat. You didn’t mention it acting weird, meaning she came home and fed it before she was taken.” Wetting her lips, she looked up and locked eyes with them, the glasses helping even if she had to push not to be overwhelmed. At least she was familiar with grief, making it easier to sort away. “Your daughter is dead. I apologize I am the one telling you this, but you should know.”

Moving away quickly, she started up the stairs.

Jack followed her like a raging bull, voice incredulous when they got far enough away. “Will! Willow! What the hell was that?”

She just pointed at the grey cat scratching at the door. “Cats. Very sensitive and extremely intelligent to their owners, if a bit too standoffish for my tastes.” She nodded at him. “If you would pick it up?”

Irritation coating the air, he moved to pick up the cat.

Though when she swung open the door and stepped into the room, taking off her glasses to look at the girl lying dead in her bed, unsurprised, Jack seemed more awed than irritated. “You knew? That she was...” Though, when he looked at her he must have seen something because he didn’t ask anything more. “When you’re ready to talk, you talk. If you don’t feel like it, you don’t talk. We’ll be downstairs. You let me know when you’re ready for us to come in.”

It was more than she thought she’d get and she nodded in appreciation.

The door clicked shut.

Will closed her eyes.

There was a voice, the voice of Elise, that met her after the chill of the veil had passed over her body.

_"Are you…"_

She answered the unspoken question. _"I'm here to help, to get justice for what was done to you. Can you tell me what happened?"_

_“There was a girl... She was nice, friendly, but the man… it hurt.”_

Eyes closed, she listened, voice soothing in a way it wasn’t when she normally spoke out loud. _“Hurt? What happened?”_

 _“The antlers… he- he put me on them… there were so many antlers.”_ Elise cried, a lurching sobbing sound. _“Then- then he- he told me he was sorry and that he couldn’t love me correctly as if- as if he didn’t kill me! Why- tell me why he-”_

“You’re Willow Graham.” 

Eyes fluttering open as she stepped back, chest suddenly heaving as ice washed over her from being pulled back so suddenly from the veil. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

The woman- dark-haired with faint Asian features was too close, watching her too intently. She retreated as the woman talked. “You wrote the standard monograph on time of death by insect activity.” Then she held up a piece of fluff, studying Will. “I found antler velvet in two of the wounds. You, uh, not real FBI?” 

“I’m a special investigator.” Her words were sharp, head pounding as she tried to sort out what she’d seen and heard.

“Never been an FBI agent?” The woman clearly was surprised by that.

Will shook her head as if to clear it, trying to find words, her voice hoarse. “Strict… screening procedures.” 

The woman looked harder, gaze like a knife. “Detects instability.” Her voice was almost verging on mocking, obviously not afraid of her even without her glasses and no real barrier between them. “You unstable?” 

_Yes, for the moment she was very unstable., thank you._

Jack walked in, a force of nature, and she retreated to the window to try to breathe in the cool night air. “Now, you know you’re not supposed to be in here.” 

_She wanted her dogs._

“I found antler velvet in two of the wounds like she was gored. I was looking for velvet in the other wounds – but I was interrupted.” 

_She wanted to sleep._

More people came in, a man with quaffed hair speaking up to correct the woman. “Hold on, excuse me. Look, deer and elk pin their prey, okay? They put all their weight into their antlers, try and suffocate a victim. That’s how they would kill, like, a fox or a coyote.”

_She wanted peace._

“All right, Elise Nichols was strangled, suffocated, her ribs are broken.” 

She found herself speaking up despite herself, as the fact was one of the basics in field-training for Aurors. She remembered Ron talking about it. “Antler velvet is rich in nutrients. It actually promotes healing.” Glancing over, eyes at their knees, she found the shaking had calmed slightly. “He may have put it in there on purpose.” 

Jack’s voice was gruff but familiar. “You think he was trying to heal her?” 

“He wanted to undo as much as he could... given that he’d already killed her.” 

_The killer had apologized. There was something different about this girl than the others. He couldn’t… love her?_

“He put her back where he found her.” 

Her head hurt, voice coming out sort of slow as she was still sort of thrown from earlier. “Whatever he did to the others, he couldn’t do it to her.”

The room was looking at her- she could feel it, Jack trying to push for more- always more. “Is this his golden ticket?”

“No, no.” Her breath was a huff, almost rueful. “This is an apology.” Looking up just slightly more- chest height- she winced at the pain of being pulled from so deep so suddenly, voice weak. “Does anyone have any aspirin?”

Will didn’t speak for the rest of the trip, mind playing the dirge from Draco’s funeral on repeat. The flight was quiet, the seat next to her thankfully empty as she took some muggle painkillers that would probably only half-work, relieved when she got back to Virginia and her car- not staying a moment longer than she had to, as she just wanted to be home already.

The drive home was calm.

There was something calming about going home- like how she used to feel going through the wards of Hogwarts as a teenager until that had gotten ruined by the war and having her own home was something of a dream come true. Her own sanctuary.

And if her eyes caught on a stray running alongside the road, pulling off to the side and spending more time trying to cajole it into trusting her than she had spent talking to Jack, then that was because dogs were so much better than humans.

“If I get a new dog to cope every time that Jack pushes me too far… I fear I will be overrun with dogs.” Her lips curled up in a sad sort of smile as she just sat on the trunk of her car and stroked where the stray dog had put its head on her leg.

Though sitting on the porch, watching the dogs interact with each other through the bars of the kennel as she sipped warm tea, she thought that might not be the worst way to keep herself sane.

Will’s eyes opened, cold sinking into her skin as she slowly turned her head.

Elise Nichols was laying next to her, skin alabaster and eyes unseeing. Slowly, the girl turned her head to look at Will with those lifeless eyes, her voice barely a whisper. _“I thought you were supposed to listen to me… find me justice?”_

Walking up clawing at nothing, shaking and shivering even with the sweat slicking her body, she knew tomorrow was going to be undoubtedly worse.

Bundling herself in towels, she just tried to find comfort in her memories instead- the smell of treacle tart and pumpkin juice, perhaps.

A hand caught Will’s arm as she went to move into her classroom, her body going still instantly even if she felt like every little part of her was vibrating.

Jack stared at her, voice low but insistent. “Give me something. I need you to clear up that head of yours and talk to me- tell me _something_.”

“Please.” Her voice came out low, raspy- on the verge of pleading. For a moment she almost wasn't sure what she was pleading for, but the instinctual words came out anyway. “Let go of me.”

The man backed off slightly as he let go of her, but he was still too close, too near, too demanding. “Graham, you have to give me something- what did you mean this was an apology? What was he apologizing for?!”

“He couldn’t love her. Not the way he wanted, so he put her corpse back where he killed it.” Her voice was still slightly strangled, taking half a step back.

“You think he _loves_ these girls?”

She rubbed a hand over her face, the other’s man agitation making her agitated like some sort of bloody feedback loop. “He loves one of them. An- and, yes, I think by association he has some _form_ of love for the others!”

_She’d sat at dinner with killers like this, had been friends with people like this. Seamus Finnigan, to name one, having gone off the rails after his lover Dean Thomas was killed in the war._

Jack just fed the loop, voice booming (and yeah, he was _exactly_ like Kingsley). “There was no _semen_ , there was no _saliva_ \- Elise Nichols died a virgin. She stayed that way!

Will’s anger flared until she was practically yelling- something in her recoiling at that- and she was glad that most of the people in the hall had scattered when Jack’s voice had started raising. “That’s not how he’s loving them. He wouldn’t _disrespect_ them that way! He doesn’t want these girls to suffer. He kills them quickly and... and to his thinking, with _mercy_!” Her voice faltered slightly at the end of her rant, something like grief taking over in her voice as she leaned back heavily on the wall, letting it support her.

_She was too damn tired for this._

Jack seemed to consider this. “Sensitive psychopath. Risked getting caught so he could tuck Elise Nichols back into bed…”

“He has to take the next girl soon ’cause he _knows_ he’s gonna get caught.” When Jack looked at her, she swallowed thickly, purged the leftover irritation and anger from her body so her voice softened. “One way or the other.”

The man nodded, looking at her, and a faint hint of smugness echoed out underneath the cloud of determination he wore like armor. “I knew you’d be good at this.”

“Jack.” He looked back at her and her voice still had that same harsh rasp she knew was as close to parseltongue as her body would let her slip unintentionally. “I don’t like being touched. Please… don’t grab me like that again.”

The smugness quickly faded to something like faint sickness. “I… I apologize.”

Nodding stiffly, eyes on his shoes, she turned to walk into her lecture hall.

Standing up before the podium, she took out a thermos of tea- she suspected she’d need it- and a teacup, pouring herself some and letting it unlodge the lump from her throat before she tried to speak.

Pulled away from her classes to go down to the fancy morgue that reeked of death, she stayed to the far side of the room, not wanting to look at the dead girl. Not wanting to _see_ anything, even as she added in her piece about the trades working with scrap metal from threading pipes when Katz (the dark-haired woman from before) brought up what she’d found.

But she was given a sight anyways.

Elise hung in the air as if levitated, limp, and unresponsive, but when four antlers gouged themselves through her body she woke and gasped. Dead eyes looked at Will, pleading even as they were unseeing. _“Help… me-”_

Will kept staring, even as the vision of Elise faded and the real world seemed to creep back into her focus.

 _She couldn’t bring the dead back,_ she reminded herself. _There was no help now- the most she could do is find the killer._

“She has lots of piercings that look like they were caused by deer antlers. I didn’t say the deer was responsible for _putting_ them there.” Katz’s voice was sarcastic, talking to the tech with the quaffed hair- Zeller.

“She was mounted on them.” Her voice was emotionless, still slightly chilled from the vision she’d had, feeling their eyes but not looking away from the girl’s pale skin. “Like hooks. She may have been bled.” Stepping forward unsteadily, she half-listened to them talk about the liver and how it was removed before being replaced.

_“-told me he was sorry and that he couldn’t love me correctly-”_

Her breath came out in a rush of air. _Oh, Merlin._ “Something’s wrong with the meat.” Hands shaking as she remembered seeing Fenrir tear out Lavender’s throat, she averted her eyes completely, hearing someone say something about the girl having liver cancer. “He’s- he’s eating them.”

Then turning, she all but ran out, moving to stand in the grass away from the smell of death. Uncoiling her hair so she could run her hands through it as she steadied her breath, she tried to push the thoughts from her mind.

Because had it been necessary, she would have done something similar for Teddy in an instant.

Will found herself grading papers on a bench by the edge of the campus the next day, as the fresh air and warm weather had been a balm to her soul the day before and she’d ventured out again to seek the same feeling, still feeling a bit unsettled by the case and her visions. Of which she’d had no more, thankfully.

Hair left undone for the slight breeze to play with, she left her glasses off and wrote in a gentle scrawl, words flowing from her brain to her fingers easily.

Cassidy Mason, one of her students, found her and stopped nearby as if hesitant to disturb her. “Miss Graham?”

“Miss Mason? What can I do for you?” Looking up, she focused on the girl’s cheekbones, as she felt more relaxed than she had in the last week, getting to be outside and also get her work done.

The girl smiled delicately, slightly flushed. “Uh- you uh… you look very pretty today, Miss Graham.” Flushing more, the girl ducked her head. “I mean- sorry- I was sent to fetch you for Mr. Crawford?”

Will smiled as she capped her fountain pen while packing away her papers, standing with her bag over one of her shoulders. “No need to apologize for a compliment. I would say flattery will get you nowhere, but it’s not flattery, I don’t think, as you’re top of your class.” They started to walk and she fiddled with the pins she’d drawn out of her pocket, not wanting to do her hair up when walking but feeling uncomfortable with it down around people she worked with.

It was an old fashioned ideal Narcissa had instilled in her, but still.

“Well, that’s because your lectures are so engaging. You really know how to use words to tell a story, I always love to hear you speak.” The girl smiled at her questioningly. “Why aren’t you a professor for real- like at some fancy university?”

Smiling thinly as they stopped before the door to Jack’s office, she gave a sort of awkward half-hearted shrug. “My two skills are teaching and death. This job happens to combine both. I'll see you in class, Miss Mason.” Moving into the office as the girl mumbled something and started away quickly, she glanced across the tailored suit of an unknown man and then looked at Jack’s cheekbones. “I apologize for being hard to find. I was outside grading papers, as I needed the air.”

Jack just waved at a seat, seeming unbothered by that. “Sit, Will. This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”

She nodded at the man in a faint dip of her head, even if she didn’t offer her hand. “Pleasure, Doctor Lecter. I’m Willow Graham, but call me Will. And please excuse me if I don’t shake your hand.”

“Quite alright, Will.”

Setting her bag to lean against the chair, she started to coil her hair up, pins in her lips as she listened to the man be caught up to speed where he and Jack were standing at the board.

“Tell me then, how many confessions?” The man had a strange accent, European of some sort, with a slight raspy undertone.

“Twelve dozen the last time I checked. None of them had any details until this morning. And then they _all_ had details.” Jack’s voice was dark. “Some _genius_ in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichols’ body with his cell phone, shared it with his friends, and then Freddy Lounds posted it on Tattlecrime.com.”

Her hands stilled at that little piece of _news_ , lips curling down as she took the last pin from her lips and slid it in place. “Tasteless.”

The doctor, who was up studying the board, looked at her curiously. “Do you have trouble with taste?”

Will huffed softly, a faint echo of a laugh at that thought. _Taste? In her head? Unlikely_. Eyes on her knees, she curbed the urge to shrug. “My thoughts are often not tasty.” 

“Nor mine.” The man studied the map once more. “No effective barriers.” 

“I build forts.” 

The man started back towards her, his gait practiced and steady, studying her as he sat. “Associations come quickly.” 

Her eyes darted over his lips and high cheekbones, voice sarcastic. “So do forts.”

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” His tone was polite but something about his tone had her stilling slightly. It was too weighted. Too pointed. Too… aimed right at her jugular with sharp teeth.

“Eyes are distracting. You either see too much or you don’t see enough.” Her voice was flippant, turning to stare at the man almost mockingly as her voice ran, glad for her glasses. “And- And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking ‘Those whites are really white’, or, ‘He must have hepatitis’, or, ‘Oh, is that a burst vein?’”

The Doctor huffed a small laugh, seeming to almost surprise himself as he did.

Will figured that was her cue to turn away before that humor turned to irritation. “So. Yeah. I try to avoid eyes _whenever_ possible.” Her eyes flicked over across the chest of the man who had called her here, uneasy as she reached out to fiddle with the case files. “Jack?”

“Yes?” The man started to amble back to his desk from the board as if it was ordinary behavior for a guest psychologist to be more interested in making conversation with her than working on the actual case- _hadn’t he wanted her for a reason?_

“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams.” The man’s voice was smooth but dug into her like claws trying to rip out her heart and for a second she could hear Draco’s voice behind the man’s. “No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

_Appalled at your dreams._

Draco had said something similar when he’d once asked her if the wish to be loved was such an impossible dream and she could feel her lungs tighten slightly as if choking her. Reacting defensively, Will’s jaw clenched. “Whose profile are you working on?” Her eyes narrowed on Jack’s tie. “Whose profile is he working on?!”

“I’m sorry, Will.” The Doctor sounded contrite, but the curiosity curling off him in a way that was almost poking at her gave him away. “Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.”

That raised her hackles- he thought he knew anything about her _observations_? How it felt to walk in the land of the dead and come back out, feeling the chill of death lingering in her veins?

No, that was unacceptable, same with trying to get in her head.

“You want a profile, Jack? _Fine_.” Her voice was sharp, words spat out as she rose and stalked over to the board, taking off her glasses and looking at each set of dead eyes- pulling on the veil and calling them to her.

Their whispers clogged her ears, the vivid deaths seeming to blur into a mural in front of her eyes as she saw them die, the chill of the veil creeping into her bones. 

“He has a cabin or extra house, some- something with an antler room.” She barely registered that it was her speaking almost fervently, just watching the girls be hung like on hooks of ivory, stained with blood. Then there was a whisper that was more like a scream and she flinched. “He has a daughter. The same age as the other girls. The same- the same hair color, same eye color, same height, same weight.”

The screaming subsided slowly, the blood slowing as the girls all drew their last breaths, like a symphony of death.

Shaking, she pulled away and slid the glasses back on with trembling hands, voice shaking as she tried to relay what she could. “She’s an only child. She’s leaving home and he- he can’t _stand_ the thought of losing her. She’s his golden ticket. She...”

Turning, her steps were almost a run as she bolted from the room then, feeling the cold finally take over, and then she was on the floor of the ladies’ bathroom, throwing up into a toilet.

There were steps and a voice saying something quietly, Jack’s footsteps approaching softly, his air concerned. “Willow?”

“Fine. I- I’m fine.” Breathing through her nose, she closed her eyes and took a few breaths before standing shakily and moving to the sink, the chill having mostly passed. Washing out her mouth ungracefully, she splashed some water on her face, wiping it off with a paper towel. “Just-... just not used to seeing that much.”

Jack looked at her in the mirror, frowning, and it was easier to meet eyes that way. _Like a basilisk._ “What made you react that way?”

Leaning against the sink, she looked at him tiredly. “The- the, uh, daughter.”

“He’ll kill her?”

Nodding, she took an unsteady breath. “I don’t-... I don’t want to be here the rest of today. I’m going home.” Doctor Lecter was waiting outside when she walked out, but she just moved past him and grabbed her bag, wanting to go fetch her tea from her small office but wanting more to just _leave._

“Miss Graham, I didn't mean to push you into overtaxing yourself.”

“It’s- it’s fine.” She knew she was still shaky, but she just wanted to not have to deal with human interaction right now. “Anything to get away from people that want to put my _brain_ in a _blender_.”

Jack’s presence loomed in the background, but he didn’t speak.

Will stepped forward to slide past the Doctor, freezing immediately and tensing when he held up a hand. His silence was pointed, but he lowered his arm. Taking a second to see if he would move again to try to touch her, she then lurched into motion, fleeing the whole mess of a day.

  
  


“Maybe we shouldn’t poke her like that, Doctor.” Jack Crawford looked at him while he just watched the woman stalking away hastily, her hands balled into fists and shoulders a bit hunched. The Special Agent pursed his lips. “Perhaps a less, uh, direct approach.”

Hannibal was mentally going over all the reactions he’d seen. The way she’d tensed at a question directed to her lack of eye contact, gotten defensive over being observed, pushed herself to her limits just to get away from having her brain be picked at… and the curious way she’d tensed when he went to stop her, defensive yet with her stance sinking into one that was prepared to fight. He rolled these over his tongue, trying to figure out the puzzle presented. 

“Doctor?”

Looking at the man, he decided to present the part he already knew. “What she has is pure empathy.” He sat forward, to explain to the man part of what he’d seen. “She can see your point of view or mine, and maybe some other points of view that scare her. It’s an uncomfortable gift, Jack. Perception’s a tool that’s pointed on both ends.”

Except she hadn’t looked scared of what she’d seen, more… curious. The reaction of being sick seemed to stem from the thought of the daughter being harmed, not the way the man killed the people.

Jack just hummed, seeming partially distracted. “Well, she got us a profile. She must’ve had something bad to eat, felt sick or something- she was just as twitchy this morning when I spoke to her.”

“Out of curiosity…” He had something that would fit, making sense to his current picture even if he didn’t understand yet where it originated from. “Has Miss Graham been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, the man looked away, clearly thinking. “She was a cop down in New Orleans before she came to the FBI and I know they said she had a case that went wrong and ended in her being stabbed, but… do you think that’s part of why she doesn’t like people touching her? I mean I thought it might be-...” The man drifted off.

He just hummed. 

If she had been attacked- physically or sexually- in the past it would explain her lack of trust for strangers and she was clearly already wary of him for pushing her, meaning she had probably been exposed to a form of manipulation in the past- all which would make it hard for him to study her.

With half a thought to cut her open in a search for answers instead, he stood as he brushed that aside, giving the other man a small smile. “Another day, perhaps.”

“I’d like you to come with us to Minnesota, but if you have other things...”

“I think, given the FBI is asking me to help them inadvertently catch a serial killer by making sure Miss Graham is stable, I am open to traveling for a day or two.”

Jack Crawford smiled at him, thinking he’d won, and Hannibal decided maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t killed the man in his office with his scalpel. He was vaguely amusing. 

Plus, the chance to see what other fascinating insights Willow Graham would come up with was too good to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Will:** *is blatantly rude*  
>  **Hannibal's Brain:** Is this love?  
> -meanwhile-  
>  **Hannibal:** *asks Will one (1) question*  
>  **Will's Brain:** He has a nice voice?  
>  **Will's Body:** Time to _flee_


	3. The Ravenstag

Will felt the rustle of the trees above her, the soft breeze of the forest. She could smell the earthy soil and the hint of rain on the horizon, looking around the clearing she was in to see the small initials she’d carved into the tree next to where she’d died.

The Forbidden Forest.

Turning and starting to run, she leaped over knotted tree roots, almost flying across the forest floor, something in her telling to get back to Hogwarts.

All at once, there was pain shooting through her abdomen, her hands clutching at where she saw sharp antlers had run her through as she opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out of her threat except a shaky inhale like she was gasping for air.

Warm sticky blood dripped down her sides and coated her hands.

Her head turned to see a massive stag covered in sleek black raven feathers like a mockery of her Patronus- a herald of distress instead of peace.

It lifted its head and a sharp discordant noise somewhere between a scream and a sob, being raised by where she was gored so that she was presented to the night sky, eyes wide but unseeing- blurred with hot tears as she struggled to breathe fruitlessly.

Snorting, the stag turned and started to take her back to the clearing as she bled out. Each step it took wedged the antlers further through her skin, the forest eerily silent except for the sound of her slow and agonizing death- her hand reaching out as a silent cry for assistance, stretched back towards the castle... but there was no help.

The stag continued to take her further into the dark woods until something somewhere in her knew- _there was no return_.

Scrubbing her face with her hands as she parked the car at Quantico, Will sort of wanted to turn the engine back on and drive away when she saw Jack standing with Doctor Lecter at the end of the parking lot.

He caught sight of her and then narrowed his eyes, seeming to see the plan to flee on her face.

Sighing, she stepped from the car. Getting her bag from the back seat, she slung it over her shoulders and trudged over to the group heavily, fixing on the woman who seemed to have a good sense of humor in turn for the other two. “Katz, right?”

“Beverly.” The woman held out her hand with a small smile on her face.

Pausing for just a moment, she reached out and took the hand. “Will.” Pulling back almost immediately after the customary few seconds for a handshake, disliking how her skin felt like it was burning with the left-over warmth of the contact, she sent the woman a stiff half-smile. “Guess we’re rooming together if I’m coming on these trips with the team.”

Bumping shoulders with her, making her glance up with wide eyes, the woman grinned. “Next we’ll be doing shots after work together, girl. You just wait.” 

Despite herself, she found a small smirk flashing across her face. Her voice, though just a bare murmur, was teasing. “Ah, but that would entail me drinking you under the table and carrying you home- and I only do that with Alana.”

“ _Oh_?” The woman grinned, starting to walk to one of the uniform cars. “I hear a story in that!”

“Yeah, one you'll have to get Alana to tell you." She snorted softly, putting her bag in the back of the car. "It was mostly a favor for freaking out on her during that one day where everyone decides it's a good idea to blow things up in the streets.”

Sliding into the passenger’s seat while she slid in the back, the woman twisted to smile at her in amusement. "Fourth of July? You get startled by loud noises?”

“Flashes of lights. Loud noises. Yelling.” Will shrugged, offering up a smile that was more of a grimace. “I’m sort of like a dog in that way. Or a deer.” Her lips quirked up at the thought of prongs.

Someone slid into the seat next to her, shoes buffed nicely and suit immaculate. Doctor Lecter's accented voice spoke up curiously. “And what breed of dog do you think would best fit you, Will?"

“One with black fur and green eyes.” She dug into the small satchel she’d put at her feet for the stack of papers she hadn’t finished grading the day before, pulling out a fountain pen from a side pocket as it was closer to a quill and felt more comfortable with her loopy writing style. Her eyes flicked over to glance at the man's tie, lips quirking up slightly. “Breed doesn't matter, not when dead dogs are concerned.”

The doctor spoke up after a moment of her flipping through her papers, as she felt his eyes studying her intently. “And why would this dog, being a representation of yourself, be dead?”

Tucking the pen behind her ear so she could find her place, she muttered the answer absently. “Because a dog wouldn’t have the audacity to think they could cheat Death.”

Doctor Lecter either didn't know how to respond to that or could see the obvious discomfort in her posture and chose not to press when she was trying to focus on something else. (She got the impression it was the latter and felt just the slightest bit of gratitude for being left alone to do her work, no matter the short period of time.)

The silence was filled with the soft scratching noise of her notes and the sounds of the road, Beverly having put in headphones in as Jack drove, the radio playing soft rock music in the background. 

Reading through an essay, she frowned slightly and shifted so she could bring her knees up, the heels of her boots resting on the edge of the seat behind her bum. The awkward position left her sort of slumped and she normally wouldn't do such a thing, but it helped abate her slight irritation with the paper she was reading so she didn't care all that much. “This is… impractical.” Her lips thinned, tapping her pen against her work pants uncaring that it left small black dots before she tilted her head. “Unless…”

“What is the assignment?”

Glancing out over where Doctor Lecter somehow made sitting in the back of an FBI car look comfortable and effortless as if he was completely comfortable in every inch of his skin, she felt her lips press together for just a moment in consideration before putting her feet back down and sitting up. Her eyes drifted to the shoulder of his grey-blue suit. "I asked my students to plan out how they would get into the house of this victim, seeing if anyone got close to what the killer’s design was and- well... most trainees just do their best so I mark it more for creative thinking than probability, but this one actually made me question its validity.” 

When the man leaning a bit into her space, she tensed just slightly, but allowed it given they were in a small space and she had technically invited his curiosity. Eyes flitting across his face as he read the paper, she looked away immediately when he looked up at her. 

The doctor leaned back a second later. “It’s a bit messy and obviously you were talking about breaking the glass of the window for being impractical, so what did you see that made you question your initial assessment?”

“Well, it's not actually impossible, if a bit messier than what I would do.” Taking out her sketchbook and flipping to the middle, passing over a page with runes on it, she sketched out the house plan roughly. Explaining how a pillow from the back porch would keep the impact quiet while the carpet muffled the falling glass, it would be easy to get to the main phone to cut the line just like the killer did.

When the man nodded in agreement, she huffed softly as she gave the paper a decently high mark and flipped to the next one.

“How would you do it?”

Will's eyes flicked over to the button of his suit coat. “That implies I would do it at all.” 

Jack chuckled from the front- Zeller and Price having stayed behind to run the lab- his eyes finding hers in the mirror. “This is the case from a few weeks ago? Now I’m curious. How _would_ you do it, Will?”

Beverly even pulled out an earbud, looking at her sort of sleepily.

Looking down at the paper with the house layout, she closed her eyes, as it was much more detailed in her mind than on the paper. “The first mistake was picking the lock on the front door. The door to the side of the garage was open and most suburban families don’t lock the door between their house and garage. It would have been much easier. Plus the breaker box is right by that door and he would have been able to shut off the power without cutting anything or leaving a trace that he was there. And when he’d killed them, he could turn the breaker on and leave… and it would give him much more time to get out, as the house alarm they had-”

“Ran on power from the breaker instead of a backup source.” Beverly grinned at her when she nodded and gestured as if to say _'what she said'_. The woman's eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. “You know, you’d be scary if you were out there killing- I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Her lips twitched slightly at the thought of her being on a particular 'side', as she’d dealt in shades of grey for so long after the war, but she just flipped her sketchbook closed. Looking at Beverly, she put a hand to her chest as if to ask _'who, me?'_ before scoffing slightly sarcastically. "Oh, no, I couldn't hurt a fly." 

And if she spotted a small smile hiding on of Doctor's lips out of the corner of her eyes when she adjusted her glasses, she just wondered what 'side' he was on if he found her own indifference amusing, starting to read the next paper in the stack.

Glad she’d cast a silencing spell around the motel bed, as she’d woken up with a strangled half-scream tearing its way out of her throat, she panted and put her head to her knees. Taking a few shuddering breaths and running her hand through her hair, she looked over at where Beverly was sleeping peacefully.

_Merlin's tits._

Glancing at the clock and grimacing when she saw it was three in the morning, having gotten to the motel at around ten after checking in with local law enforcement and giving her profile, she went to take a shower. Dressed and not able to stop hearing Voldemort’s shrill yell ringing in her ears, a flash of green echoing in her mind, she pulled on a light coat over herself before letting herself out into the cool air.

The small motel was not very high quality and she knew Doctor Lecter had gone to some fancy place across the street, but she didn’t mind it all that much. At least it had a nice park down the street and she sat down on one of the benches, wrapping her arms around herself as she tilted her head back to look at the stars. 

The light pollution made it sort of hard to see them, but she could still recognize where the stars were supposed to be and filled in the gaps in her head.

Her phone rang sometime later and she blinked slowly to find she’d fallen into what seemed to be a shallow sleep, digging out the phone to answer it. Her voice was thick, almost a yawn. “Graham.”

“Good morning, Will. Miss Katz was unaware of where you went, so I got your phone number from Jack.”

Sighing and rubbing her face, she sat forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Doctor Lecter. Good morning to you too.” Drifted across the park towards where the motel was. “Did you wake Beverly up trying to find me? Because it’s...” she glanced at the phone screen, “kind of early for a social call.”

_Take a hint. Leave me alone._

“Never too early for breakfast though.” The man sounded as if he was smiling. “I assume you are outside somewhere?”

_She was too tired for this._

“Goodbye, Doctor Lecter.” Hanging up, she leaned back on the bench again. Settling her glasses over her face (just in case), she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh that was almost a yawn. 

“Will. ...Will.” Something poked her and she jolted, almost falling off the bench in a pile of limbs, barely catching herself on the bench with a hand. 

Peered at the man with slitted eyes, his smile amused, she pulled herself back up. Nose wrinkling as she eyed the newspaper he slid into the pocket of his long coat, she checked her phone. Half-past seven. “‘Morning. Again.”

“Did you sleep at all?” Doctor Lecter placed a tupperware container down by her leg, along with a napkin and a fork, studying her. “It’s safer to sleep in a hotel room than on a random park bench. I doubt Jack would appreciate it if you got yourself killed- you do look faintly similar to those girls.”

Huffing, she shook her head, about to tell him that she wasn’t anywhere close to the killer's type- but her eyes caught on her hands, turning them over as she paused to consider that. _She did grow out her hair so it was longer and she didn't get as much sun, so her skin would be lighter._ “That... didn’t actually cross my mind. I- er- tend not to look in mirrors.” Before he could analyze that too deeply, she picked up the container and utensil, opening it only to blink in surprise. “Did you make this?”

“Yesterday. I’m very careful about what I put into my body, which means I end up preparing most meals myself.” He opened his own container. “It’s a protein scramble. Some eggs, some sausage.”

Spreading out the napkin on her lap, she took a bit of egg and tomato, humming in delight. It had been forever since she’d had fresh home-cooked food. “This is delicious- thank you.”

The doctor had a sort of proud smugness to him. “My pleasure.”

Taking another bite, she chewed on the sausage slowly, something tingling at the back of her brain. “What type of meat? Sorry, I’m just-”

“Rabbit, actually.”

_Well._

Will had spent enough time around Zabini to be mindful of what she ate from people she didn’t trust (not that she didn’t trust Blaise, but he’d eaten some pretty weird shit), and by the way her darkness was writhing happily in her chest she was pretty sure this was _not_ from a rabbit. Swallowing, she hummed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had rabbit.”

Lecter just smiled at her with an inscrutable smile. “Always a chance for something new.”

Stabbing another bite of eggs and ‘rabbit’, she just decided that it wasn’t like she hadn’t humored Blaise a few times and plus, it wasn’t hurting anyone if they were already dead. 

_What grey morals you have there, Willow._

“I would apologize for my analytical ambush the other day, but I know I will soon be apologizing again and you’ll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.” 

She stabbed her eggs, wondering why she would want to put up with him if he was just going to be apologizing for things he did- most likely ticking her off with his ‘analytical ambushes’. “Just keep it professional.” 

His eyes were watching her as she ate, her own gaze focused on the food determinedly. “Or we could socialize, like adults.” His voice verged on sarcastic. “God forbid we become friendly.” 

Will prickled slightly at that, biting out a defensive remark before she could even think about it. “I don’t find you that interesting.” 

Instead of getting offended, the man's eyes just settled on her skin like a physical weight, voice sure. “You will.”

The darkness in her chest stilled as if watching- waiting. 

Will shifted her weight and crossed her legs so she could bounce her foot in agitation, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. “Doctor Lecter, if your purpose here is to babysit me, then by all means go ahead and stare at me all day- but I’m not looking for a psychiatrist.”

“How long have you had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

Surprised, she choked on a bite of her food, coughing into her napkin as she bent over slightly. Folding the napkin when she’d stopped coughing, she set it next to her leg and then looked up at the man’s cheekbones in surprise. “Why- why do you say that?”

“You dislike being touched, you avoid interaction with people that you don’t know, you tend to shy away from male presence more than female ones, you’re hypervigilant of your surroundings, you flinch when people move too fast, loud noises distress you… am I wrong?”

Will blinked slowly, eyes flicking up to actually look him in the eyes. “Not necessarily _wrong_ , but you’re not right either.” Her lips curled into a questioning frown. “Who put the idea of sexual assault being the cause of my PTSD into your head?”

His eyes were a sort of brownish maroon color with flecks of red in the light. “Jack Crawford, actually.”

“Ah.” She looked back at her eggs. “It’s more that I took to Katz because she has a good sense of humor. Zeller and Price hold me in slight contempt, probably because I’m not really FBI or because I'm an unknown factor, and Jack is… He’s too much like an old friend of mine for me to not compare the two and therefore find fault with him.”

There was a slight pause before the man spoke up calmly, even if his words were prodding. “I think that Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest China, used for only special guests.”

Her laugh was bright at that, tilting back her head and finding her laughter bubble up from her lips without hesitation- _oh gods, how long had it been since she last laughed like this?_ When her laughter died to small giggles, she glanced over at his cheekbones, her lips still stretched into a smile. “How curious. And how do _you_ see me?”

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.”

Will let the smile linger on her lips as she looked down at her food, voice mirthful. “I hate to disappoint you, Doctor Lecter, but I have a talent for befriending snakes rather than killing them.” 

Her phone rang. 

Fishing it out, she answered easily. “Graham.”

Listening to Jack tell her about assignments and the local law doing sweeps, she tucked the phone under her ear as she packed away the food, mouthing a ‘thank you’ as she handed the tupperware and fork back to him. “I’m sure that Beverly knows the exact type of pipe, as I’m afraid I didn’t catch that, but-” When Jack interrupted her, she moved away to toss the napkin in a nearby trash can before pausing and frowning at the ground. “Yes, sir. ...I’m not far and can meet you at the motel in less than five minutes.”

The doctor stepped a bit closer as she ended the call. “That was Jack?”

“It seems," her voice was idle as she slid her phone away, "that we’re off to catch the newly named ‘Minnesota Shrike.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (literally them rn)  
>  **Hannibal:** I've only known Will Graham for a day and a half but if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself  
>  **Will:**  
>  **Will:** What the fuck, Lecter


	4. Calvin and That One Dead Cannibal Guy

Beverly was with Jack for the day, so she was stuck in a car with Doctor Lecter. The man, thankfully, didn’t seem to mind the silence though he did look at her a lot during the trip. Parking the car, she glanced over at him, eyes at his jaw. “What are you smiling at?”

“Peeking behind the curtain. I’m just curious how the FBI goes about its business when it’s not kicking in doors.” His smile was small but immensely amused, even if she wasn't sure what at.

Will huffed softly. “You’re lucky we’re not doing house-to-house interviews.” She double-checked to make sure she had her badge in her pocket instead of in the back of the car with her bag, explaining why they were at the construction site. “We found a little piece of metal in Elise Nichols’ clothes, a shred from a pipe threader.”

“There must be hundreds of construction sites all over Minnesota.”

“A certain kind of metal, certain kind of pipe, certain kind of pipe coating,” she waved her hand in a way to say _‘this is the boring part’_ , “so we’re checking all the construction sites that use that kind of pipe.”

Doctor Lecter looked at her and she couldn’t tell if he was really excited or just putting on a mask of such without looking into his eyes. “What are we looking for?”

“At this stage, anything really. But mostly, anything... peculiar.” Sliding out of the car, she pulled her coat straight so her firearm was noticeable but not completely out in the open.

It made her a bit uncomfortable to have him walk behind her, as she could feel his measured footsteps like a cadence at her back and she tried to fight the urge to put space between them that had risen unconsciously in her chest, back tensed up. Knocking on the door to the office trailer, she talked stiffly with the woman that was managing the office of the construction company, keeping her eyes up (or at least at the woman's cheekbones) and her back straight.

They were let in after she pulled out her badge and she started to go through files while the woman moved to pick up the desk phone again, voice a whisper. “A lady and guy from the FBI. They’re goin’ through the drawers now.” The woman held her phone conversation as they worked, looking back at them after a moment. “What did you say your names were?”

Will was more focused on the file in her hands, pausing when she got to one that stood out. “Garret Jacob Hobbs?”

“He’s one of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. Plumbers’ Union requires ’em whenever members finish a job.” The woman then whispered something over the phone and then hung up, looking back at her warily.

“Does Mr. Hobbs have a daughter?”

Nodding, the woman looked dismissive. “Might have.”

She decided to spell it out for the woman, voice impatient. “Eighteen or nineteen, wind-chafed, uh, plain but pretty. She’d have auburn hair, a bit shorter than me?” 

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t keep company with these people.”

The Doctor leaned further towards her, peering at the file in her hands. “What is it about Garret Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?”

Looking at the paper, she swallowed a snide comment, giving the first explanation she could think of. “He left a phone number, but no address.” 

_Even as lame as it sounded it was much better than saying 'my magic- which I have because I'm a witch- is doing something akin to the macarena in my chest just touching this paper so I know it's important'. That would probably get her institutionalized._

“And therefore he has something to hide?”

The man sounded somewhere between impressed and skeptical- much like every other person who had tried to poke at her brain and she prickled slightly, mutter coming out with a slight edge of irritation. “The _others_ all left addresses.” Turning away from him to look back at the woman, she wanted to sigh at how much this was trying on her nerves. “Do you have an address for Mr. Hobbs?”

Taking all the boxes of files that the others might need, a pile of files slipped from a box Doctor Lecter was handing the woman, leaving her to help the woman pick them up. 

Getting them sorted in the back of the small rental car, she looked at where the doctor was moving down the stairs, seeming to have gone back into the office.

_What was he up to?_

Both sliding into the car, she started the engine. “I’ll call Beverly on the way there, but if I need to go in, you have to stay in the car.”

“Perhaps if it comes to it, I could help- I was a surgeon before I went into psychiatry.”

“That-” Thinking about it for a moment, she nodded. “If the situation escalates, then your help would be appreciated, but please stay behind me. If anyone gets hurt, Jack would probably rather it be one of his than a civilian.”

Will could feel his eyes, but she kept hers firmly on the road.

“Also, I would hold on. I have a feeling we don’t want to be late for whatever’s waiting for us.” Hitting the gas, she wove through the cars around them with a small grin flashing its way across her lips at the way that the man tensed and grabbed for the door.

_Her driving was to be blamed on Bill Weasley, as he was the first person to try to teach her and he'd put her in a car inside a set of professional padded wards... which was probably not the best way to ease a teenage girl with a death wish into operating a vehicle with a gas pedal. Of course, the driving courses she'd taken at the police academy hadn't helped either, but it was more fun to blame Bill._

As they turned a sharp bend in the road, the man laughed in the short exhilarated way people did when they drove with her like this. 

She found she liked the sound.

Slowing as she got closer to where her phone told her the address was, she worried at her lip and stopped further from the house than she would have usually. Staring at the plain-looking one-story house, her eyebrows drew a bit tighter.

Her darkness _writhed_.

“Something wrong?”

Sliding out of the car, she unhooked the strap over her gun. “Stay behind me.” Starting to stalk forward, step smooth and silent as she sunk into her instincts, she took careful note of her surroundings even as she kept her eyes on the front of the house.

There was the sound of the door opening, a man shoving a woman covered in blood out of the door and she had her gun up in an instant. A shot rang out and the man jolted as she hit his shoulder, but the woman was in the way, the door slammed close.

_He’d known she was coming._

Rushing forward and scanning over the woman as she guided her to lay down on the ground, she gritted her jaw. Unless she used a healing spell there was no way to save the woman and with the doctor here… Putting a hand over the wound, she looked into the woman’s wide blue eyes. “It’s alright. You’re going to be alright.” Something must have shown in her eyes because the woman relaxed slightly, something in her recognizing Will's words as she bled out. “Blessed be. It’s okay… meet the veil peacefully.”

The woman closed her eyes.

Will was up and kicking open the door to the house before she could overthink everything, hands slick with blood even as she held her gun steady. “Garret Jacob Hobbs! FBI! Moving into the kitchen, she saw the man raising a knife to a girl’s throat as she cried out and tried to struggle away-

_Pansy?_

_No, not Pansy- get a grip on it, Willow._

Blinking that thought away, she narrowed her eyes just slightly and pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot echoed out across the kitchen, Garret Jacob Hobb forced backward with the force of the bullet that had struck him right between the eyes, his knife already coated with the girl's blood.

The man fell, limp and dead, the girl gasping as she fell to her knees.

Will rushed forward, pulling the girl into her arms and keeping her from looking at the man. “You’re alright. You’re alright, I got you. I got you, you're safe. You're safe, it's okay.” Pushing out her magic, she surrounded them with it, healing the cut on the girl’s neck into something that was barely bleeding as she held her tight and babbled in a way she hoped was comforting. “It’s okay. Just hold onto me- just hold on, we’ll be alright. It's okay. It's over. We’ll be alright- we'll be alright.”

Breathing harshly, she and the girl clutched at each other in the middle of the kitchen, both needing someone to steady them.

_Lavender laying on the grey stone of the Hogwarts courtyard with her throat torn open, Pansy struggling to get away from her parents as they called her a blood traitor for going against the Death Eaters, Colin Creevy starring at the sky with dead eyes, Fred being clutched at by Miss Weasley- there was too much blood._

Eventually, a hand reached out, prying her back and the girl was taken out of the kitchen as she was left there, covered in blood and trying to breathe. Pushing herself up, she stumbled slightly, clutching at the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Will?”

_Her heart was beating too fast- she couldn't breathe- couldn't tell where she was, couldn't think- she was choking-_

Backing up against a wall, head tilted back as she shook with the wave of roiling emotions shaking through her, she felt as if she was suffocating. “Dray-” The name came out as a choked whisper, voice hoarse and almost pleading when she forced the words out. “I need- need Draco. Where- Where’s-”

“Is that someone on your phone, because- girl- you gotta help me, I don’t know what to do here.”

Hands were taking her shoulders, shoving her back against the wall roughly, her fingers coming up to wrap around the wrists even if she didn’t push the hands away. “Willow. Breathe.”

Will sucked in a breath of air at the command, eyes flitting around the room, lost. “I don’t- I couldn’t save-”

“Stop talking and breathe. In and out, Will. Breathe.” Her jaw clicked shut, taking in a deep breath and then letting it out slowly in time with the breathing exercises Draco had taught her.

Her eyes closed, hands loosening just slightly around the man’s wrists. Her magic settled slowly and with it, so did her shaking.

Head leveling as she took one last breath, her eyes fell open. Looking at the pristine suit jacket of the man in front of her, her eyes then moved to where his hands were on her shoulders, immediately letting go of his wrists, thankful when he pulled away. Her voice was soft. “Thanks. I-... I don’t know how you got to the conclusion to shove me against a wall, but it, uh, it worked.” Glancing over at the man she’d shot in the head, she instead looked down at her bloody hands and tried to sort out her head. “The girl. How- how is she?”

Beverly spoke up, obviously curious about what had just happened but having enough tact not to ask. “She’s fine, if not shaken up. You got the shot off before he could do her any real harm. Good job.”

“Jack?”

“Outside.”

Nodding, she moved past the doctor and across the grass to meet Jack, aware that she probably looked like a crime scene. Stopping before him, she looked up into his eyes, taking advantage of her state of numbness. “I want to-to speak to the girl. She knows where the place is that her father... murdered those girls.”

Looking over her, the man frowned but relented. “Over by the ambulance. You should probably get cleaned up too.”

With another slightly stiff nod, she moved over to the ambulance where Doctor Lecter was already standing, accepting a wet wipe but scoffing when the EMTs tried to put a shock blanket on her. Her eyes met the girl’s wide ones where a man was bandaging the wound on her neck and she felt herself soften. Her voice was soft but not too soft, understanding but not pitying. “Is it alright if I asked you a few questions?”

“Who... Who are you?” The girl’s voice was small, looking at her hands, eyes seeming stuck on the blood.

“Willow Graham, FBI.” Unbuttoning her shirt and peeling it off for sake of the tank top underneath, she wiped her arms of the blood before moving to throw the shirt in the hazardous waste container of the ambulance, taking off her glasses to wipe her face with the wet wipes. Seeing the girl watching her as she then started to get the rest of the blood on her arms, she held the glasses out (after wiping them off, of course). “Wanna try them on? They help protect me from the outside world, like another layer of armor, but I don’t need them to see.”

Shaky fingers took the glasses, setting them on a freckled nose slowly.

Now that she was out of her panic and mostly clean she was able to think a bit clearer, voice steady as she took on the role of a confident adult she knew the girl needed right now. “Technically I’m supposed to get information from you before I tell you anything... but how about you ask me a question and then I ask you one?”

The girl nodded slowly.

Feeling more _warrior_ than _haunted empath_ at the moment- especially with the (manageable amount of) adrenaline still rushing through her veins, she smiled faintly. “Whenever you're ready. Take your time.”

Looking down at her hands, the girl's voice was hoarse. The girl swallowed thickly. “My mom. Is she… is she dead?”

“Your father slit her throat.” Will knew better than anyone that some things could not be broken 'lightly' as it was something she needed to know and would find out eventually, ignoring how she saw Doctor Lecter tilt his head out of the corner of her eyes. “There was nothing that could have been done, as the wound was far too deep, but she didn't suffer except for the initial pain. Bleeding out that fast is fairly painless.” She moved to sit in the grass, letting the girl look down at her in a position of superiority that might make her more comfortable with the questions.

Putting a hand over her mouth and closing her eyes, the girl nodded.

Letting her have her time, she finally spoke up softly. “What’s your name?”

“Ab- Abigail.”

“In the Hebrew bible, Abigail was the wife of King David, often described as an intelligent and beautiful woman. I can see you live up to your name, Abigail.”

Closing her eyes, the girl clenched her hands, having a question but obviously fighting with herself. Eventually, she spoke. “My dad-... he killed those girls- the ones on the news- didn’t he?”

Will waited until the girl’s blue eyes met hers, nodding. “He killed them and we think he might have been eating them too. Did he like to hunt?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he had a… he had a hunting cabin out in Maryland.” The girl looked at her hands, looking a bit sick, and Will shot a glance at the doctor, relieved when the man moved away to tell Jack. By now the EMTs had finished with the girl as well and were giving them a bit of space as well, so she and Abigail were alone. “What-” The girl’s voice was a whisper. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“You’re going to probably be placed in a hospital for those who have suffered similar emotional traumas, but before you do, I would recommend that you tell one of the people I work with about your father. The more you tell them, the less they’ll think you’re keeping information from them.” She met the girl’s wide eyes head-on. “You were just as much a victim of your father as any of those girls and if you speak, people will listen. Trust me when I say that people will be more open to your side of the story now than they will be if you lie about what happened.”

Abigail looked distressed, leaning forward. “Do they-”

“Know? Not yet, but I’m sure that it won’t be long before they do.” She spoke with kindness, having seen the same fear in Pansy, Theo, Draco, and Blaise after the war. “Fear is a strong motivator, Abigail. I don’t believe anything you did was in cold blood.”

The girl looked away when the good doctor joined them again, voice quiet. “It’s-… it’s your question.”

She leaned back on her hands. “Dogs or cats?”

“We… I never had pets.”

Will chuckled softly, rubbing at her cheek. “I think that raising kids like that is a bit like tempting fate. I never got a pet when I was young and somehow I ended up with seven dogs.” When a giggle was startled out of the girl, she smiled. “Yeah, it’s ridiculous, I know. I always have dog hair on me, but they’re adorable and I love them all dearly, so I can’t really complain.”

Abigail looked up with a tentative smile. “Are you a crazy dog lady?”

“Oh yeah. Most definitely. And that counts as your question.” At the girl’s soft offended noise, she grinned. “Favorite color?”

“It was red.” The girl grimaced. “I’ll say... purple.”

She nodded her approval. “Mine is red too, occasionally. But for today, I say light blue. Like the sky.” Tilting her head back to look up at the clear sky and seeing the girl do the same out of a corner of her eye, she looked back at Abigail with a small smile.

“Can- um- can you braid my hair?”

Blinking in surprise, she nodded and started to push herself up from where she was sitting. “Just a braid? Or do you want it up and all twisty?”

Abigail smiled at her hesitantly, picking at her nails. “Something like your hair? It’s… it’s pretty. Reminds me of, um, Jane Austen or like the victorian ladies in stories like that.”

“Are you calling me old?” Her voice was mock offended, lips tilted up.

“The oldest.” The girl was smiling. “A fossil. The Smithsonian is going to show up any minute to pick you up, probably scold me for breathing around you.”

Soft laughter bubbled up from her throat, smiling widely as she reached out to squeeze the girl’s shoulder. “Whatever you say, kid. Just for that, I plan to give you the worst old lady hairstyle I can, make you match me for oldness.” 

With a small smile, the girl turned, more trusting than Will deserved and she felt the last bit of her residual anxiety from the earlier confrontation melt away.

“Will.”

Looking up from where she was putting the pins from her hair into Abigail’s hair, she looked at Jack’s tie and tilted her head. Taking the last pin from between her lips, sliding it into place easily, she smiled thinly. “Me or her? Because she looks more like me than I do right now.”

Jack didn’t seem amused. “Katz found the location of the hunting cabin tracking Hobbs’s finances.”

Pulling back, she put a hesitant hand on Abigail’s shoulder, meeting her gaze. “Abigail. This is Jack Crawford, my boss. Would you like to tell him anything since you’re in your Will Graham approved battle outfit?”

“Bloodstained clothes and glasses?”

She shrugged gracefully with a crooked half-smile.

Abigail looked at her hands. “Is it okay if I-...”

Will nodded, understanding. “I’m going to get a new shirt from the bag in my car and see about the state of my own hair as I proceed to ask every female in the vicinity if they have a hair tie. Might be a while, but I’ll be within yelling distance.” When the girl relaxed, she nodded to Jack and went to do exactly that.

“I see that you’re more sociable than I was told. Even Jack looked suprised.” Doctor Lecter fell into step with her.

_And here she thought he'd leave her alone for a bit longer, as he'd stayed back and been mostly silent when she was talking with Abigail._

Looking over at his shoulder, she huffed softly. “She’s a kid. I’m good with kids. Adults are… more complicated. Greedy. Full of desires and fantasies and twisted thoughts, with the intention to turn everyone they meet to their own opinion.” Opening the back seat of the car, she pulled a shirt from her bag and shrugged it on. “Plus, I believe that no matter what they’ve done, every kid deserves love.”

The man leaned against the car, hands in his pockets. “Did you get that love, Will?”

Her fingers stilled for a moment, hyperaware of his eyes on her skin. Her voice was flat when she spoke. “I don't know what you mean.”

“When you were a child, did you get the love you deserved? Or is the only exception to your rule yourself?”

Mind going to Tom Riddle, to Severus Snape, to Draco Malfoy and all the other children of the war, she found herself smiling bitterly. “I was never really a child.” _Not since she was five and her uncle hit her for the first time, but that was a long time ago._ “Therefore... I am lucky I got what I had.”

_Again, her bar for being okay was painfully low._

“Everyone is a child up until they are forced not to see themselves in that way. What pushed you into the mindset of an adult?”

Will tucked her shirt into her slacks a bit messily, uncaring. "My uncle.” She glanced at his chin out of the corner of her eyes. “I could ask you much the same- but I’ll settle with asking if it was a guess or observation that helped you get me out of my panic attack.” 

The man smiled, unreadable. “A bit of both.”

“How? Tell me what _you_ saw for a change.”

“I saw someone who must have had a child be hurt on their watch before and lost them. Someone who needed a physical anchor because they were floating away from their body. Someone who called Jack ‘sir’ over the phone when he gave you orders.” His voice was curious, eyes studying. “Were you ever a soldier, Will? Or in any type of military?”

She laughed, but it was pitchy, deeply shaken by the observations that hit a bit too close to home. “I was a homicide detective- similar enough.”

The man hummed as if he didn’t agree, eyes feeling all too intense even if his voice was musing. As if daring her to actually look at him, to tell him anything of actual import instead of half-truths and lies of omission. “Tell me... how does someone become a soldier without actually having a record of being one?”

_By having the weight of a whole war put on her teenage shoulders and then being awarded as a hero so the government didn't have to admit their lack of a backbone had forced her to kill a tyrant herself with none of their help._

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Doctor Lecter." Seeing Jack wave at her, she started his way, glad that the man didn't follow her like he'd done the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Abigail:** *exists*  
>  **Will:** Not to be dramatic or anything, but I would die for you.  
> (this is canon tbh)


	5. Tentative Friendship

Abigail Hobbs was under investigation and would be seeing trial for aiding and abetting in eight murder cases, though Will had no doubt she would walk free with time in a psych ward given she was under duress. 

Will had gone back to her classes, though she wrote back and forth with Abigail about simple things unrelated to anything of major importance. 

Her last letter had been about brewing a proper cup of tea, including a teabag of chamomile tea- as she liked to send small things like that. A pressed flower, a spritz of soft perfume, a drawing of the woods from her back porch.

In turn, Abigail wrote about memories she’d had as a kid, where she’d wanted to go to college, or even ask her for a written story (she’d written out the tale of Persephone and Hades for the girl, including sarcastic side notes).

They never mentioned her trial or the fact their letters were surely being monitored and were going to be used by someone to prove something- hopefully for good- but they both knew it. 

Nevertheless, the letters kept being exchanged.

Alana found her after one of her classes, the soft presence making her look up, glancing at the woman. “Hi.”

“How are you, Will?” The woman had that soft, _‘I’m worried’_ tone to her voice, eyes concerned.

“I have no idea.” She was fine, but she knew that wasn’t something Alana wanted to hear, as it would make her think Will was hiding something. And she wasn’t. She really was fine, if not ready to go home.

Alana just looked a bit awkward. “Um, I didn’t want you to be ambushed...”

“What, this is an ambush?”

The woman’s smile was strained. “Ambush is later. Immediately later, soon to now.” Will caught sight of Jack approaching, the woman not noticing. “When Jack arrives, consider yourself ambushed.”

She stood from where she’d been perched on the side of the desk, moving around the table before starting to pack the rest of her stuff from the day, putting some space between her and them. Her voice was a mutter. “And here’s Jack.”

Jack moved to the woman’s side, looking at her and then at Will. “How was class?” He apparently wanted to start with small talk. Great.

“They applauded. It was inappropriate.” _And she’d felt like she had when coming back from the war, people thinking she was some sort of ‘hero’ even when she had blood on her hands._

“Well, the review board would beg to differ. You’re up for a commendation." The man looked proud at that as if it was his doing instead of her own. "And they’ve, uh, okayed active return to the field.” Something Jack, of course, would want to happen.

Alana cut in, voice strong as she looked at Will carefully. “The question is, do you want to go back to the field?” 

Jack looked at the woman sternly as if he didn't expect Will to be consulted. “I want her back in the field.” He looked at where she’d clenched her jaw. “And I’ve told the board I’m recommending a psych eval."

_Talk about speaking over her head like she wasn't even here._

“Are we starting now?” Her voice was a bit stiff, really not wanting to do this.

Shaking her head, Alana looked a bit wide-eyed. “Oh, no, the session wouldn’t be with me.” 

Cutting in, Jack looked proud of himself for some reason. “Hannibal Lecter’s a better fit. Your relationship isn't personal. But if you are more comfortable with Dr. Bloom...” And that was why. He’d backed her into a corner.

Lips tightening as she gripped her bag, she stared at the desk of the lecture hall she knew all too well. “No- I’m not going to be comfortable with anybody inside my _head_.”

_Especially not the man that she suspected was the reason Abigail’s throat was almost cut open and she’d been orphaned._

“You’ve never killed anyone before, Will.” Again Alana had that soft voice. “It’s a deadly force encounter. It’s a lot to digest.”

Her frown became more pronounced, actively moving towards the door at that assumption that just reminded her of darker times. “I used to work Homicide!”

Jack’s voice was impatient. “The reason you currently _used_ to work Homicide is because you didn’t have the stomach for pulling the trigger.” His voice rose at her back, frustration leaking out into the air around him. “You just pulled the trigger in a perfect headshot on someone who was holding a hostage, Will!" 

“Wait,” she turned to peer at him incredulously, “so a psych eval _isn’t_ a formality? 

“No, it’s so I can get some sleep at night!” The man’s voice was gruff, exactly like how Kinglsey had been. “I asked you to get close to the Hobbs thing. I need to know you didn’t get too close. How many letters have you written Abigail Hobbs, Will?” The man raised his eyebrows.

Will’s jaw tightened, voice almost a growl. “Therapy doesn’t work on me.”

Jack hummed, then stepped forward to get into her space with narrowed eyes. “Therapy doesn’t work on you because you won’t _let_ it.”

She was ticked off now, nails digging into her palms, wanting to scream at him that she didn’t want anyone in her head ever again. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “And because I know all the tricks.”

“Well, perhaps you need to un-learn some tricks.”

Alana moved forward, apparently sensing she was about to deck the man. “Why not have a conversation with Hannibal? He was there. He knows what you went through.” 

Taking a deep breath to calm herself as she removed her glasses, she turned and started to walk out.

“Come on, Will.” Jack’s voice followed her, almost sarcastic now. “I need my beauty sleep!

Will really hoped he tripped on something or somehow got some sense knocked into him because it wasn’t a good idea to poke her like this- not when her darkness had been more awake than ever since shooting Garret Jacob Hobbs.

Sliding into her car, she sighed deeply and then put her head against the steering wheel.

She was going to go see the doctor, wasn’t she?

Will wasn’t sure why she was here- _damn Jack, damn Alana, damn herself_ \- but she knocked on the door of the office at the time that Alana had been nice enough to text her with, stepping back and smoothing out her skirt as she found she needed to do something to do with her hands. She kept her eyes down, glasses set on her face like her own barrier from the outside world.

The door opened, polished shoes stepping to the side after just a slight pause. “Will. Please, come in.”

Stepping in, she scanned the surroundings, eyes instantly drawn to the second story that had a balcony with a ladder with the walls covered in bookshelves, wondering what type of books the man had in his massive collection. She stepped that way almost instinctively and if it put some space between her and the man (and his watchful eyes she could feel on the back of her neck) then that was perfectly fine with her.

However when the man pulled out a paper, she glanced over hesitantly, hands still gripping her bag tightly. “What’s that?”

“Your psychological evaluation. You are totally functional and more or less sane.” His smile was a bit mirthful. “Well done.”

“Did you just... rubber stamp me?” Her lips actually curled up slightly, her smile disbelieving.

Doctor Lecter looked at her levelly, inclining his head just slightly. “Yes. Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn’t break you and our conversation can proceed unobstructed by paperwork.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, but after a moment of pause between them, neither moving, she gestured towards the ladder. “Do you mind if I...”

“You’re more than welcome to the loft if that makes you more comfortable. This is your time, after all.”

Nose twitching slightly at the offhand _'if that makes you more comfortable,'_ meaning he'd seen her reluctance to share space with him, she diverted her attention at her skirt. Figuring that it wouldn't be that hard to climb a ladder in- even if the heels were a bit less practical- she set her bag aside and then moved to climb up the ladder carefully. “Had I known I would be going up ladders, I would have changed.” Her voice was a mutter, drawn to the books. “Heels are a pain... Though they are formidable improvised weapons.”

“And what do you wear them for?”

“I have a particular appreciation for the sound they make when walking on hard surfaces, as a friend of mine used to say that dangerous people should both know when to walk silently and when to make noise to blend in.” Pulling out a book in Italian carefully, stroking its spine, her voice was soft. “I tend to walk silently naturally- a habit I can’t break, it seems.”

The man moved to stand in front of his desk- she could hear him. “Do you consider yourself dangerous?”

Shugging, she set the book back. “I shot a man.” Then shaking her head, she reached up to take another book down and study it. “But that’s not why I’m here. In fact, I’m not entirely sure _why_ I’m still here when you gave me a perfect reason to not come back.”

“How so?”

She waved a hand to the paper he’d set on the side table next to the chair she'd set her bag down on. “I could take that to Jack and clear myself of obligations. Walk away and not look back.”

“And though you say that, you don’t seem very inclined to do so. Or is the draw of my collection just stalling your retreat for the moment?”

“Am I that obvious?” She flashed him a mirthful smile then set the book back in its place, turning to lean against the railing as she tapped the wood with her nails. “No, the reason I didn’t bolt the moment you told me what those papers were was the way you responded. You said ‘conversation’... Is that what this is?”

Doctor Lecter gave her one of his unreadable smiles. “It is whatever you need it to be.”

The tapping of her nails stopped, taking a deep breath and looking back towards the books. “I think I need a friend.” When the man didn’t speak, she tried to find the right words. “I used to have someone like that, someone who would tell me what I needed to hear no matter if I wanted to hear it, in a room much like this where I could just... exist.”

“If that is what you’re asking of me, then I must in turn request you call me by my first name. Eye contact is also preferred for these types of conversations.” The man leaned back against his desk. “In some ways, therapy would be almost easier.”

Her lips pulled up into something remorseful and slightly bitter, remembering Dumbledore’s words after Cedric died: _‘Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy.’_ Her fingers drifted to her left arm to run along the scarred skin. “That’s alright. I don’t expect it to be easy.”

They were both silent as she descended the ladder again, moving to stand a few feet in front of him.

He straightened.

Reaching up and then pausing, she took a deep breath before pulling off her glasses. “Perhaps we should try this again.” She held out her hand. “I’m Will.”

A warm hand that was a bit larger than hers clasped her hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure, Will. I’m Hannibal.”

“Well then Hannibal, may-” Her eyes looked up to meet maroon eyes that shone with red flecks in the light. _Like Tom Riddle,_ her mind supplied her unhelpfully. She caught herself, swallowing thickly. “May Fortuna favor our time as friends.” Pulling her hand back, she moved to settle in a nearby chair, running her hands over her skirt in need of something to do.

Sitting down across from her smoothly, she tried not to compare him to Tom Riddle, and yet again she failed miserably- something he seemed to see and yet didn’t question at the moment. “Fortuna, the Roman goddess of fortune- Do you like mythology? I noticed you said something about being ‘blessed’ to Miss Hobbs.”

Folding her hands together, she leaned back and glanced up again, trying her best to get comfortable with his gaze. “I am... of a sort of strange set of beliefs.”

“Something close to ‘Wicca’, I assume?”

Her grin was dry and couldn’t be helped. “Ah, yes, modern witchcraft...” Mirth dripped from her lips and into her voice at that, as non-magical people were not that far off- in most things- even if their attempts at finding magic were a bit like trying to scream at a deaf person. “I tend to lean more towards the olde rites actually. Paganism, if you want a label.”

If he didn’t understand, he didn't show it. _“‘Holy places are dark places. It is life and strength, not knowledge and words, that we get in them.’”_

“C.S. Lewis.” Her smile was approving. “And though I don’t consider myself holy, the places I go are quite dark.”

“No redemption for your soul then?”

Will laughed, the sound ringing out around the room. Hand coming up to her chest as if she was going to cover her mouth, she stopped herself in time, just letting the sound ring out around them. Her smile was bright when her laugh faded. “Redemption? No. We live with the stains we pick up, as there’s no way to wash them out once you’ve got them, making you who you are.”

Hannibal leaned forward slightly, studying her. “So tell me, Willow Graham, what stains have you collected?”

Standing to use up a bit of her nervous energy, she thought about this as she moved to the windows. “Oh, the usual. This and that.” Reaching out, she stilled right before touching the glass, hearing Draco’s scolding for leaving handprints on his window in her head.

The street below the building was illuminated by the soft orange glow of street lamps, looking like stars trapped in iron cages.

_“‘Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.’”_

“Macbeth.” The man spoke, curious. “And what black and deep desires are you hiding, Will?”

Her teeth worried at her lip, her voice a soft mutter. “I did not just look into your eyes, Hannibal, you also looked into mine. What do you think?”

There was a pause, but the man answered finally. “I think I may have been wrong in my metaphor. You are far more of a snake than a mongoose, though you play the part well.”

Glancing back, she hissed softly in the universal wordless taunt for snakes.

His eyes lit with amusement, the corners of his lips curling up. “A snake with the instincts of a military dog. How curious.” He waved to the chair. “Sit. Tell me, have you been in contact with Abigail Hobbs?”

Will sat back down, legs crossed. The heel of her shoe tapped against her thigh as she flexed her ankle repetitively out of habit, keeping time to an imaginary metronome. “We letter each other. I am much more eloquent with the written word than the spoken one most days and recently got into the hobby of sealing the letters with wax. She calls me ‘old’ but I know she keeps them, so I don’t mind the extra pageantry.”

“Do you see her as a surrogate daughter? You saved Abigail Hobbs’ life. You also orphaned her. That comes with certain emotional obligations, regardless of empathy disorders.”

“You were there too.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel obligated?”

_Do you feel bad for orphaning her and making her be confronted with the reality that her father wanted to kill her?_

He met her gaze unflinchingly, voice truthful. “Yes. I feel a staggering amount of obligation and responsibility. I’ve fantasized about scenarios where my actions may have allowed a different fate for Abigail Hobbs.”

Hearing her phone beep with a timer, she stood. “Here we are, poking at each other with sharpened sticks to see what happens and we already have a kid together.” Her smile was curved, as she snagged the papers off the table quickly, striding quickly away. “I have to get home, but please do have a good rest of your night.”

He stood, but she was already out of the door.

She was not running away, she just… needed to be somewhere else. 

Immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Random Person:** *does something rude or just generally off-putting*  
>  **Hannibal:** This is is an affront to my very existance  
>  **Will:** *hisses at Hannibal like a snake to mock him*  
>  **Hannibal, with heart eyes:** Perfect. That one. I want that one.


	6. Mushroom Dance, Mushroom Dance, Whatever Could It Mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to split this into two chapters but then I just thought you know what, c'est la yeet

Eyes fixed on the target and yet not really seeing it, shoulders tight as she shot, each kick rippled through her body like shockwaves of energy. Each shockwave making her tenser, mind replaying the events of the confrontation in the Hobbs' kitchen. 

_The crazed look in the man's eyes, the fear in the girl's, the sound of the gunshot, the spray of warm blood..._

Her gun clicked, the chamber empty.

Will lowered it slowly, reaching up to rub her temples with a spare hand while trying to push the memories from her mind. Removing the ear protection, she startled just slightly when a voice spoke up from behind her.

“Hey, girlie.”

Glancing back at where Beverly was standing, she smiled thinly, setting her gun down. “Katz.”

“Beverly. Once you sleep in the same room as me and give me a mini heart attack walking up to find you gone, you can call me by my name.”

Will's barely-there smile turned a bit more teasing. “Oddly specific conditions.”

“Odd place for a Professor to be.” The woman sent her a similar grin. “Zeller wanted to give you the bullets he pulled out of Hobbs in an acrylic case, but I told him you wouldn’t think it was funny.”

She frowned. “Probably not.”

Beverly wasn’t dissuaded by the frown. “ _I_ suggested one of those clackin’ swingin’ ball things.”

With a breath out, letting go of the tension in her shoulders, she let the woman’s humor seep into her skin before looking back and sending her a wry grin. “That would’ve been funny.”

The woman eyed the target coming towards them, whistling. “Woah. You’re a hell of a shot, girl! They said you had trouble pulling the trigger, but I can’t see why when you shoot like that!”

_Well, a gun was much easier to control than a spell of pure magical energy._

“It’s hard to shoot someone you empathize with.” Her lips twisted in a grim smile, looking away when the woman’s stillness gave away how she wanted to take back the words. Will didn’t let her get the chance, changing the subject. “You didn’t come down here to see me shoot though.”

Beverly smiled, thankful for letting her lighten the mood again. “Jack sent me down here to find out what you know about gardening.”

“More than I want to.” Her surprise was probably evident at the strange topic in the furrow of her brows, glancing back at the woman’s collarbone. “Why?”

_Apparently, the answer to that question was: Mushrooms._

Will stared at the dead bodies buried in shallow graves along the forest floor that were growing mushrooms in absent fascination. The only real thought in her head was- _Nevile would think this was inspired._

“So, Lecter gave you the all-clear.” Jack moved to her side, sounding pleased with himself. “Therapy might work on you after all.” 

Her voice was a mutter, still staring at the sight before her, not wanting to talk about the subject of her ‘therapy’ with a ten-foot pole. “Therapy served your purpose. I’m back in the field.” 

Jack seemed to see her distraction with the case presented before them and started to give her an update on what they’d already gotten. “Local police found tire tracks on a hidden service road and some small animal traps in the surrounding area.” 

She nodded at that, as it made perfect sense to her why someone would do such a thing in this situation. “He wanted to keep his crop undisturbed.” 

“The only thing missing is the scarecrow.”

The joke fell flat because she could hear his underlying disgust at the bodies, just nodding back at him.

It was with half her attention that she focused on the conversation around her, absorbing the information that the others had collected from the scene already.

Nine bodies in various stages of decay, fertilized with high-nutrient compost to encourage decomposition, buried alive with fluids being fed into their bodies.

The rest of her attention was in studying the layout of the bodies and how they were so neatly put in their boxes, laid down, and covered. Left there. Alone, in a forest, with no threat to keep them there, nothing holding them down... Will tilted her head quizzically, fascinated despite herself, and spoke up to confirm what she saw. “No restraints?” 

Zeller made a face, waving his hand, Price shrugging. “Just dirt.” 

Beverly pointed the brush she’d been using to clean the dirt off the bodies towards a small contraption attached to a tree. “The other end of the air-supply system comes up over there. It isn’t a very considerate clean air solution... which clearly wasn’t a priority, ’cause he isn’t lazy.” 

“No,” her voice was low and musing, “he’s not.” 

The group seemed to get the memo and started to clear out, Jack nodding to her as he too turned to give her space. “Welcome back.”

Sometimes, Will wished she didn’t understand these things sometimes. Wished that Neville was here to snark about how this guy must have _really_ liked mushrooms. Wished that she wasn’t mentally planning a dinner of mushroom soup in her head because it amused her darkness.

But that was not to be.

Will moved forward slowly, glad she'd been in her spare change of clothes to go down to the range as she kneeled by the nearest body, the dirt pressing to her jeans as she sat back on the slight heel of her boots. She wondered for a bare moment if she looked like she was praying, before closing her eyes and feeling the slow chill of the veil come up to meet her.

A woman was the first to meet her, others following her, but no real distinguishing features between the victims stood out to her- no signature. 

Her voice was soft. _“Tell me... who did this to you?”_

 _“A man.”_ Their voices mixed into something whispery and soft, something that left chills on her spine and she could have sworn that a hand reached out to brush her cheek, twitching at the feeling. One of the spirits breathed a soft breathy laugh that didn't actually hold any humor in it. _“We felt the dirt but we did not move. There was no way of knowing we were alive... there was no way to know we were dying.”_

_“How? How did he do that to you?”_

They started to fade slowly, the woman looking at Will with something akin to pity in her eyes. _“The medicine."_

 _"Will you kill him, necromancer?"_ Again the spirits spoke as one. _"Will you avenge us?”_

Something grabbed her arm, starting to drag her back to reality and the spirit of the first woman reached out, Will reaching back but there was nothing to be done as she was shoved harshly back to reality with a shuddering gasp. Shaking, she looked down at the body she was kneeling by, seeing it clinging to life by just a thread, reaching out to her and asking- _begging-_ for her to save it.

_Necromancer._

Will stared at the person clinging to her- to that strand of life- unable _(and unwilling)_ to do anything.

Being pulled away from the body by Beverly, she found her feet and stumbled back. 

She watched as the body gasped then went still as the strand of life had broken, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the tree she was leaning against. When she found the ability to move her limbs again, she found herself moving to slide into the back of the car she’d come in with Beverly, fishing out her cell phone and finding the number she remembered being on her psych eval papers.

It picked up on the third ring.

“Doctor Lecter speaking.”

“Hannibal, I...” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I hope- I’m not interrupting?”

“No of course not.” There was a pause and some static, then the sound of a door closing. “What can I do for you, Will?”

Her laugh was broken, harsh. “I am interrupting. I can call back when-” 

Hannibal cut her off. “You sound distressed. What kind of friend would I be if I did not make sure you were alright?”

“I’m having... an interesting day and I-..." She pressed her hand to her eyes as if that would make her unable to see the faces of the souls in her mind, reaching out to her so futilely. "I have no one else to talk to.”

There was a pause and she almost forgot to breathe while waiting for him to speak again.

“I have no patients after five o’clock. Would a time around then work for you?”

_He’d probably just been thinking about his schedule._

She took a shaky breath in, rubbing her forehead. “Five thirty to six?” That would give her some time to get back to the office and then drive over, listen to some music, calm down a bit.

“I will see you then.”

“Okay.” She breathed a bit easier, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Thank you, Hannibal.” 

“Of course, Will.”

There was an awkward pause and it felt too much like one of them was going to tell the other to hang up, so she took initiative, hanging up before she overthought herself into talking more than she already had.

Getting to the office half an hour early, she pulled out her phone to check the time and wondered if Hannibal would mind her getting some tea. Deciding she wanted tea, damn his opinion, she slid out of her car and made a stop into the coffee shop across the plaza. Sitting down in a chair of the waiting room right as the door opened, she stood up again and found herself gesturing to her cup. _(What happened to damning his opinion, Will?)_ “I hope you don’t mind?”

“We all have our own coping methods.” Stepping aside, he let her pass before shutting the door. “And if tea calms you, then you should be allowed it.”

“Thanks.” Sitting down in the chair she’d taken last time, she inhaled the hot steam curling from the peppermint tea and tried to order her mind the best she could. “Do you like gardening, Hannibal?”

Sitting down opposite her, the man looked her over curiously. “I have never been particularly fond of it.”

Will just nodded, not knowing what to say to that, looking at her cup and forcing herself to keep her breathing steady.

“Would you like to talk about how you ran away rather quickly after our last conversation?”

She shook her head slightly but spoke up anyway as she glanced up tentatively. “I didn’t run away.”

Hannibal was looking at her, eyes almost amused as if to say _'oh really’_. “Not running away…” His voice was musing. “What would you call it then?”

“Walking quickly in too fast a manner for you to catch up with me?” A cheeky smile graced her lips for a moment before she looked up, meeting his eyes and it melted away so she could look at him seriously. Her eyes flicked slowly between his. “The action of running away implies fear… Should I have reason to fear you, Hannibal?”

“I do hope not.”

Looking into his eyes and seeing honesty- _though he was unusually hard to see as if he was an exception to her 'gift'-_ she nodded. “Then why would I run?” Sipping the tea, she closed her eyes for a moment against the scalding hot liquid. “If you can’t tell by the phone call- and I apologize again for interrupting you- I haven’t had a new friend in… a long time and all my old friends I have fallen out of contact with.”

_Meaning she was hiding from the Wizarding World._

Hannibal leaned forward. “What about Alana Bloom?”

“Alana Bloom took one look into my eyes without my glasses and declared me unstable. Though I respect her and her company, she is the reason I am not an FBI agent... though our stilted relationship has less to do with that than the fact she looks away every time I make eye contact with her.”

Nodding slowly, the man seemed to think about that for a moment. “You do have startling green eyes and nature usually only gives such bright colors to things that are dangerous... but I don’t see why that would be the deciding reason for you not to be an FBI agent.”

Will smiled hesitantly, sipping her tea again and reveling in the scorching heat. “Perhaps knowing the devil can look like ordinary people makes it easier to look past that which looks like the devil- as such letting certain people see I’m just an ordinary person past my eyes.”

“Ordinary is relative.”

“So is the devil- let me have my metaphors.”

This earned her a small chuckle, Hannibal raising his hands as if in defense. “Apologies, I will take note you are defensive of your forms of speech.”

Laughing, she took a sip of tea, eyes crinkling around the corners just faintly as she watched him write something down. “Know that usually, I would be very uncomfortable with someone writing down things about me without me knowing exactly what was written.”

Glancing up at her slowly, his lips curved up and he wrote something else.

Will wet her lips and took another sip of tea, studying his face. “You remind me of someone I once knew. The first and last person to get in my head, actually. He too was charming with the same measured footsteps, styling his personality exactly to match his environment.” Her eyes drifted across his cheekbones, voice mirthful. “He tried to kill me- convinced himself that we were fated to be together until my rejection led him to want nothing more than to rip out my heart.”

“What happened to him?”

“I killed him.” Blinking slowly at the same time the man did, she took a long sip of her cooling tea before smiling simply. “It was survival. It was… freedom from being controlled.”

Hannibal looked at her with unreadable maroon eyes, studying her face as if questioning if she was telling the truth. “That is quite the thing to admit, Miss Graham.”

She simply shrugged. Even if he went to the police, the most he would do is expose her identity and set Kingsley on her ass- she’d gotten an _Order of Merlin_ for killing Voldemort after all. “I would not admit it if I thought it something that would have lasting repercussions.”

“You say that I remind you of him... Will you kill me too?”

She snorted faintly, shaking her head immediately. “Oh no, I wouldn’t do that unless you tried to do what he did and mess with my head. I’m averse to being manipulated, but most everything else about the comparison I find faintly amusing now, if not charming, despite my better judgment.”

He looked at her, face still painfully blank. “You said he tried to kill you.”

Will nodded. “I’d be surprised if you tried to kill me, sure, but I would get over it.” She shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I would much rather have a fairly quick death than being alive but unable to do anything, waiting to decompose enough that I die while growing _mushrooms_.”

“Is that what distressed you so much this morning? The inevitability of death shoved in your face?”

She shook her head, looking at the window off to her left as her eyes unfocused slightly, seeing the body seeped in death pleading for her to save it. “My panic was because one of the dead wasn’t really dead and I couldn’t do anything but watch as he died, not the prospect of dying.”

Hannibal gave her an unreadable smile. "I see." 

_(She did not think he fully did, but let him have his beliefs about her. He would learn with time.)_

“You held none of the same hesitations with Garret Jacob Hobbs, nor I would imagine your other mentioned victim, is it only those you perceive to be innocent that you don’t wish to die?”

Even if she shook her head, she didn’t even try to explain that it wasn’t the way that she had to watch someone die- rather that she’d been asked for help and couldn’t give it. “I don’t see Garret Jacob Hobbs nor Tom Riddle as my victims.”

The man raised one of his eyebrows just slightly. “Then what are they?”

Her lips turned into a quizzical smile. “Dead.” 

Hannibal reflected her expression with a curious look of his own, but he changed the subject yet again as he sat back. “You said that these bodies were covered in fungus?” When she nodded, the man hummed. “The structure of a fungus mirrors that of the human brain- an intricate web of connections.”

“You think he admires their ability to connect the way human minds can’t?” She tilted her head, tossing that around in her brain to find it seemed to have potential.

“Yours can.”

Will found herself smiling widely at the man, who broke into his own sort of lopsided grin, shaking her head in amusement. “Yes, well, if he’s looking for connection let’s hope he doesn’t have my address.”

They smiled at each other for another moment before something had her magic tingling, feeling someone nearby- someone curious and prying.

“I am having dinner with Jack Crawford tonight. I believe he is worried about you and will ask questions.” When she nodded, Hannibal tilted his head slightly. “You don’t worry about what I will tell him?”

“Feel free to tell him whatever you think appropriate.” She sent out a low pointed pulse of magic towards the door to the waiting room, satisfied when she felt a twinge of panic and irritation as the person was sure to have gotten their electronics fried. Her gaze slid to Hannibal, smiling. “You are my friend, are you not?”

The words of the question would come off as manipulative normally but she could see that he knew that the question was one that held a surprising amount of hope. She was not asking that to try to guilt him, she was asking to clarify what she needed to hear- that she had someone that she could trust for the first time in a very long time.

He inclined his head. "I am."

Falling quiet for a moment as she finished her tea, he seemed content to let the silence stretch between them, though when her phone buzzed, she stood, letting him match her actions this time. 

Will collected her bag and slid her glasses back on, brushing a stay lock of her hair behind her ear as she dug her keys out. “Is there anything you’d like me to include in my next letter to Abigail for you?”

Hannibal smiled thinly. “I’ve been to see her a few times already, but thank you for the offer.” Moving to open a fancy hardback journal on his desk to a particular page, he studied the paper. “I have an opening later this week Saturday from noon to one. Perhaps lunch would do?”

“Are you going to cook for me again?” 

He looked inexplicably pleased with her question when he looked up at her. “Of course. It’s the least I could do for a friend.”

“Wonderful. I will see you then.” Moving to the exit, lips tilting up slightly as moved to open the door for her, she nodded slightly in thanks. “Have a good night, Hannibal.”

“You as well, Will.”

Walking slowly, steps steady as she turned her back, she smiled to herself. 

No, there was no more running for her- not that she really thought she’d get far if he gave chase... Though perhaps she should take up running through the woods again, remedy that, as Merlin knew everyone needed a bit of challenge in their life. 

But for now, she had mushroom soup to make.

Will looked at the body in front of her, layers of fungi clinging to it. It was strangely beautiful in a slightly uncomfortable way that made her want to check to make sure she wouldn’t start to grow fungi. “What were they soaked in?”

“A highly concentrated mixture of hardwoods, shredded newspaper, and pig poop perfect for growing mushrooms and other fungi.” Price seemed fairly chipper for the subject, though she’d found forensic people were always a bit odd.

“It was not the mushrooms, though.” Zeller motioned to the body as he gave a bit more context to whatever that cryptic first statement had meant. “They all died of kidney failure.”

Beverly moved over with a folder, handing it to Zeller. “Dextrose in all the catheters. He probably used some kind of dialysis or peristaltic to pump fluids after their circulatory systems broke down.”

Her voice was absent, starting to think about what the woman had said right before she’d been yanked away, moving to grab her thermos of tea. “Force-feeding them sugar water?” 

The others theorized about alcoholics and craving sugar-water but that didn’t feel right.

“It’s not just alcoholics who have compromised endocrine systems... They all died of kidney failure?” When the group nodded, not seeing it, she tapped her nail against the thermos and just decided to spell it out for them. “Death by diabetic ketoacidosis.”

Beverly looked at Zeller with a raised eyebrow. “Did you know they were diabetics?”

The man's defenses raised, his presence souring at the perceived slight to his competency. “We _don’t_ know they were diabetics.”

“No, they’re all diabetics." She wanted to roll her eyes, but stopped herself, keeping her voice musing so she'd be less likely to offend anyone (Zeller) any more than she (somehow) already had. "He induces a coma and puts them in the ground.” 

“How is he inducing diabetic comas?” Beverly looked at her.

Will glanced at the woman’s lab coat, a bit tired of trying to spell everything out for the three. “Changes their medication. So he’s a doctor or a pharmacist or he works somewhere in medical services.”

“He buries them, feeds them sugar to keep them alive long enough for the circulatory systems to soak it up.” Thankfully, Beverly caught on after that.

Price seemed even more enthusiastic at catching the connection. “So he can feed the mushrooms!”

Zeller, however, was somewhere between horrified, offended, and disgusted. Or all three at once. “We dug up his mushroom garden.”

“Yeah. And now... he’s gonna want to grow a new one.” Tapping her nails on the thermos, she pretended not to notice the frown Zeller was giving her, just turning for the door. She would deal with whatever he sent her way one way or another.

Having SWAT with her was a lot nicer than relying on her instincts alone, but even with them at her back, she still scanned her surroundings as they moved through the store. 

But there was no rush, no excitement from her darkness, nothing.

In a way, Will wasn’t surprised in the slightest when they didn’t find the man at the store, as she hadn’t gotten a peep out of her magic since- 

Turning, she started to run to the exit. “His car!” Moving outside, she found the car her magic was pointing her towards and broke the window with her elbow and a bit of strengthening magic, ignoring the ache as she reached in and popped the trunk. Moving to the back and gagging slightly at the smell of fresh compost, she started to dig up a figure, finding a weak pulse. “She’s alive!”

“EMTs! Now!” Jack moved over to her with a nod as if to say _‘good job’_ , though the man was focused on the case, stepping back and pacing back and forth as he talked out loud. “All right. We know his name, we have his address, we have his car. He couldn’t have gone-”

“Jack?” Price moved over, though his voice was wary. “We just checked the browser history at Stammets’ workstation.” 

Jack scowled. “Am I gonna wanna hear this?” 

The other man winced, glancing at her. “No. And yes... but mostly no.”

Humming, she passed them both, bushing her hands off. She knew she probably smelled like compost, just trying to get it off her hands for the moment. She could wash her hands later. “Well. Sounds fascinating. _I’m_ curious.” She could feel Price balk a bit at that, her suspicion it had something to do with her only mounting as she stalked to where Beverly was on a laptop that was hooked to the store’s computers and the woman looked up at her with hesitant eyes.

Jack followed her, seeming just as curious.

Zeller met them with a grimace. “Freddie Lounds. TattleCrime.com.”

_Ah... this should be good._

When Jack waved his hand as if to say _'go on',_ Beverly started to read. “ _‘The FBI isn’t just hunting psychopaths, they’re headhunting them too, offering competitive pay and benefits in the hopes of using one demented mind-’_ ” The woman’s words faltered.

“Keep going.” 

Beverly pursed her lips at Jack’s demand, glancing at where she was looking at a nearby wall blankly. “It’s about Will.”

The words had her shoulders stiffening a bit more, reminding her of people talking over the heads of their pet, as if she was just the team's bloodhound that couldn't understand them (even if she knew that Beverly hadn't meant them in that way).

Jack didn’t seem to care. “Go on.” 

“ _‘One demented mind to catch-’_ ” Beverly cut off again, motioning helplessly. “She goes into a lot of detail.” 

Leaning over, she finally looked at the picture of her (luckily unrecognizable from The-Girl-Who-Lived) kneeling next to the fungi-covered bodies in concentration. “Hmm. _‘Sure, we're familiar with the stereotype of the FBI profiler, swaggering onto a crime scene, fitting the pieces together like a master puzzler with his 1000-piece jigsaw. In reality, these profilers should be likened to harridans reading a cup of spent tea leaves- passing off their active imagination as fact.’_ ” Her voice was toneless as she read, though she did find amusement in the mention of reading tea leaves. “Oh, but I fear she’s wrong. I wouldn't trust tea leaves to tell me the weather if I was standing outside.”

Beverly laughed a bit nervously. “You- uh- you’re not offended?”

“Not past how the timing let our killer escape... In fact, the complaint about the way my mind works and the comment about the puzzle sounds like something Zeller would say.” 

Jack turned on the man in question, eyes glinting. “Oh?”

“I doubt he would go to the media over something so petty though.” She stuffed her hands into the pocket of her worn jacket, starting to walk away, voice trailing over her shoulders. “For a man who wants a connection he can’t have, I bet the killer is going to use Miss Lounds to get to me. And he’s _quite_ desperate by now. I would be concerned… but I don’t know how to contact her.”

“Wait- wait!”

Will stopped, looking back at Zeller with a tilt of her head.

The man shrunk under Jack’s glare. “I- uh- I have a way to contact her... A private number.”

“Ah.” Moving back to the desk, she held out her hand. “Well, then, I might have a way to redeem you yet, Agent. Would you dial that number for me? I have to have a chat with Miss Lounds.”

Jack turned his eyes on her, voice a growl. “What are you going to do?”

She just smiled as she took the phone from the man and lifted it to her ear without even blinking. “I’m going to set the thing that Stammets wants right in front of him. _Me_.”

It wasn’t hard. 

Will was good with reporters and spinning her words into a weapon when she was hunting- _and she_ _was_ _hunting-_ so Miss Lounds agreed to an interview heartily. Though when she handed the phone back to Zeller, the other four of the team were looking at her as if someone they didn't know had just inhabited her body and used it to dance the macarena, seeming not to be able to connect her with the calm confident person she'd become when talking to Freddie Lounds.

Beverly hummed, the first to rationalize the behavior away. "I bet you were crazy good at undercover work during your time on the force."

"Never worked undercover on the force." She moved to clean her glasses on her shirt idly when the woman's eyebrows furrowed, huffing softly. "I'm going to go get some sleep- I have a murderer to meet up with in the morning."

_All the people she'd met that had a natural talent in reading other people's emotions and could lie to the devil without breaking a sweat had one thing in common: long-term abuse or trauma._

_Which was one of the reasons why she had been so petty and spiteful towards Zeller for being jealous of what she could see- because she hadn't wanted this, it had been forced on her._

The next morning she woke to find Freddie Lounds, led by her relentless attention-seeking, made a post that a special interview ‘tell all’ was going to happen between them and that her 'next big scoop' was coming soon.

As well, she'd set their meeting in a small cafe with the FBI making sure that there weren't anyone but a few other agents in the building. Though from the outside, with the location far from any sort of police station and looking as if there weren't many people, it was a prime place for someone to be abducted- namely her. 

Right on time, a redhead with crystal blue eyes walked into the cafe, spotting Will across the room reading a worn copy of _‘Frankenstein’_ (as she thought it appropriate). Walking over like a peacock who thought she’d gotten exactly what she wanted, the woman sat down in the seat across from her. “Miss Graham.” Her voice was practically a purr. “I have to say, hearing from you was more than I expected. Now, how can I help you set this story straight? Tell me _your_ side of the story.”

The door jingled open again, a man walking in silently and her darkness _danced._

“I’m not here to talk to you, actually.” Looking up, she smiled at the man who had just pulled out his gun and was about to shoot the redhead. “Elliot Stammets, correct? I know I used Miss Lounds here to find you, but I’d rather it if you didn’t shoot her… Would you like to sit down? A cup of tea, perhaps?” She scooted over, patting the bench as if inviting him to sit next to her.

Pausing almost comically, the man looked at her with wide eyes. “You- you’re Willow Graham, right?”

She nodded. “I am. I’ve been following your work, of course, Elliot. Quite clever, inducing comas like that, I was almost stumped for a moment at not seeing restraints on your chosen connections.” Her head tilted. “They were connections, right? Mycelium is so beautiful, the way it senses when you walk near it even reaches back to you... Like a very line into the earth itself.”

The man opened his mouth and then closed it, nodding as he moved closer. “You- you understand?”

“Yes, Elliot... I understand.” Voice laced with softness and _warmth_ , she smiled so very gently, imagining she was speaking to Teddy. “Please... sit with me?” 

The man practically fell forward, sitting down, staring into her eyes longingly. “Your brain, the connections, it’s- it’s _beautiful_.”

Ducking her head just slightly as if abashed, she smiled. “Thanks, I…” Wetting her lips and looking up from her lashes as if hesitant, she reached out. “Here, give me your hands. I want to show you something.”

“Something- You’re going to show me the connections?” He set the gun down, reaching out.

Will struck. Jabbing the man in the throat, she slid onto his lap to pin his arms to the bench while he choked on his own tongue. “No. I’m here to bring you in for the murder of nine innocent people.”

The cafe was swarmed by the FBI, Beverly and Jack rushing in with their guns up. 

Sliding off the man’s lap, grabbing his gun as she did, she handed it off to Zeller and then grabbed her unfinished cup of coffee. After a quick debrief of the sting (a few other agents reassuring Miss Lounds that they had a sniper set up in case the man didn't listen to Will) she trudged from the coffee shop, tired and wanting to be home already.

“Wait- Wait! Miss Graham!”

Pausing and looking at the collar of the blouse that the redhead woman following her was wearing, she sighed and just adjusted her satchel tiredly. “Yes, Miss Lounds?”

“You spoke as if you knew him. As if you could understand what he did. As if you _cared_ for him.”

She just put her hands in her pockets. “Do what you will, Miss Lounds. I understand journalism is very cut-throat and you have to be quite vicious to stay at the top, so I will stay out of your way. I’m quite used to people hating me for the things I can do and I don’t expect you to stop, but please... be more careful.” Glancing up and finding the woman reminded her far too much of Ginny for her own good, she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Not everyone will be as lenient of criticism about their personality, though I have to say your article was well-written.”

The woman frowned slightly. “I… I was expecting something different. Is, uh, is that why you stopped him from killing me?”

_No, it was because I hate washing blood out of my clothes._

“Have a good night, Miss Lounds. And say hello to Zeller for me, yeah?” With a small rueful smile, she moved to her car and settled in for a long drive home.

The next morning one of her students asked about Stammet's case during class- about how she had baited him into submitting to his own arrest without a firefight or a single weapon fired and how _'she'd sounded so genuine on the tape'_.

It was with a faint smile that she listened to the audio recording of her talking to Stammets that Freddie had posted on Tattlecrime.com, with an article talking about how she was as good as one of the people she caught- a wild individual that sought out serial killers instead of normal people because she could understand them.

Will just leaned back in her chair and wondered how many monsters she was going to attract now that they knew she could see their darkest secrets and _understand_. Wondered how many lost souls would seek her out in desperation for someone to validate their darkness- how many killers would want to see if they could twist her so she would be on their side instead of hunting them.

It would be interesting, to say the least.

Her finger tapped the audio button, listening to her syrupy tones echo out around her.

_“I understand.”_

Her finger pressed the five-second rewind button.

_“I understand.”_

Then again

_“I understand.”_

And again.

_“I understand.”_

And again.

_“I understand.”_

_Well… didn’t everyone want to be understood so deeply, right down to their darkest desires?_

Again, the door to the office opened right as she sat down outside, only this time she smiled as she stood. “I’m starting to think you’re psychic.”

“You are just very punctual.” Hannibal’s smile was small, stepping aside. “I see you brought something of your own. A surprise?”

Will moved over to her chair, sitting with the small basket on her lap. “I made tea and treacle tart for us, to go with lunch. I’ve always liked baking more than cooking anyway.” Getting out two tea sets that were probably the nicest things she owned, she smiled when he moved a small folding table between them, setting the teacups and a thermos out before bringing out her plate of treats.

The man, in turn, set out two plates and then served two slices of a wonderful-looking quiche. “Treacle tart is more of a British desert, isn’t it?”

“My family actually hails from Britain, hence my faint blend of accents and my preference for tea over coffee. Caffeine and my nerves don’t mix well anyway, as it tends to make me sleepy rather than what other people intend for it.”

The man poured himself a cup of the tea, sipping it and nodding. “I will have to have you brew me tea more often. Is the blend one of yours?”

Will smiled faintly, charmed. “You put too much faith in my talents. It’s from a tea shop near my house I frequent.” Taking a bite of the quiche, she hummed. “And I will have to have you cook for me more. This is positively delightful.”

“I heard the audio from your interaction with the ‘Mushroom Man’, as they are calling him.” He smiled at her soft snort, eyes amused, though they had an edge to them. “You were quite convincing and the way you spoke was almost, dare I say... loving?”

Her mouth ran before her brain could stop her. “Audible porn for people with a kink for being understood?” 

The room was silent, Hannibal as still as a statue.

“That…” Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head and looked away. “Sorry, that was crass. I know logically that everyone’s looking for someone to understand them, I just… I listened to the audio about a million times thinking about how my life is going to change now that anyone can go online and hear me speaking in that sickly sweet tone of voice- undoubtedly I’m bound to be stalked by someone like Stammets who craves being understood. And if I look them in the eyes I’ll understand and… I didn’t sleep too well, apologies.”

“It’s alright.” Seeming to crack from his ice and begin to eat again, the man peered at her. “Is that really all it takes? Looking in someone’s eyes?”

Will nodded. “I can usually get a vague sense of emotion without any eye contact, but when I do look in people’s eyes, well, it depends on what kind of person they are. Those that are consumed by their darker impulses are easier to see with just a glance, whereas most people I just see vague flaws and ideals- even things they may be thinking but not saying aloud.”

Hannibal hummed softly. “Are you afraid of someone like Stammets coming after you? Someone wanting to be understood?”

“Not afraid, necessarily. I can handle myself.” She nibbled on a treacle tart, looking up to meet his eyes. “It’s more… a big mess.”

“Because they’ll interrupt your schedule? That’s a bit cold, isn’t it?”

She huffed mirthfully. “Because even though I’ll understand and see what they feel, it doesn’t mean I feel the same. I’m willing to go through hell and back for my friends and family, but most all of these people will come expecting something close to love without any sort of give-back or even a full friendly conversation. And one way or another they’ll find that the most I can give a stranger in that situation is a questionable amount of pity and platitudes that get nicer the more lives are depending on my ability to think on my feet.” 

“You think when they see that their rushed plan to make a relationship with you won’t work, they’ll kill you.”

Will nodded, taking a sip of her tea and finishing her quiche.

Hannibal ate with her, speaking up when they had both finished their food and were sitting back with tea and sweets. “There will be some who try to come to you as friends, who will approach with the intent to make a connection that way.”

“Then let them hope the FBI doesn’t yank my leash onto their scent.”

He tilted his head. “You’d let them come into your life and try to possess you like that, worming their way into your schedule- give them your time?”

She shrugged. “As long as they don’t try to twist my head around and are pleasant enough company, I don’t mind all that much. I keep so many people’s secrets, why not one more? Plus, Jack would probably brand me with the FBI logo if he could.” Lips pulling back into a slightly toothy smile, she thought of how some of the DA used to get when they thought she was in danger. Her murmur was amused. “Being possessed isn’t an unusual feeling, and as long as I am allowed a bit of space and my mind left undisturbed, it’s not necessarily a bad one. We all have those that have power over us- the structure of our society is practically built upon it.”

Hannibal stared at her over his cup of tea, seeming almost surprised.

Smiling, she sat back with a treacle tart, holding a napkin under her as she savored the sweet treat. Her lips curved up a bit teasingly. “How does that make _you_ feel, Hannibal?”

“As long as this experiment of yours does not interfere with your punctuality,” he smiled thinly, “I will stick to being curious on how this whole affair will play out.” He sipped his tea. “Do try not to die. I find your stories amusing.”

Her laugh rang out around the room, eyes crinkling. “I will do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hannibal, thinking to himself:** Will is a small anxious cinnamon roll who works with the 'good guys' so I'll need to be careful in what I say or suggest to her, as not to upset her moral compass  
>  **Will:** I killed a man 😊  
>  **Also Will:** Being possessed isn’t an unusual feeling and as long as I am allowed a bit of space and my mind left undisturbed, it’s not necessarily a bad one 🤔  
>  **Hannibal:** Quick hypothetical thought experiment- how long would you need to know a person before being proposed to in order to not think it rushed? Like... two months? One month? Three weeks, maybe?


	7. Quality Muder-Family Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family fluff! And there's OnLy OnE bEd ;)

Waking up in the late morning, as she didn’t have any classes until the afternoon, she let the dogs out to run around. Walking out after them as she stretched her arms up above her head, she looked over when the dogs started to bark.

Alana was standing on her lawn with a friendly smile. “Morning!”

_So her head was buzzing because of the wards, not because she’d finally gone mad. Noted._

Will smiled at the woman tiredly. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

“Hybrid.” The woman’s own smile was far brighter, looking her over as she made her way towards Will. “Great car for stalking.”

_That would be mildly concerning if she didn’t know Alana so well._

Will was suddenly well aware she was in panties and a loose shirt, lips twisting into an awkward grimace as her hands pulled slightly at her shirt. “I’m suddenly compelled to go cover myself.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll think you really are stalking me.” When the woman laughed, she smiled just faintly, turning. “You want a cup of coffee? And more immediately, _why_ are you here?”

“Yes, and Abigail Hobbs got acquitted.”

Pausing, she glanced back at the woman’s shoulder for a long moment before shaking her head. “Well, you know how to bury the lead.”

Alana raised her eyebrows. “You want me to get you a cup of coffee?”

Huffing, she moved to open her door, wanting to get to Minnesota as soon as possible. “No. I want to get dressed and grab my coat.”

“Let’s have a cup of coffee.” 

The woman took over her kitchen as she got dressed, leading to them sitting down at her small kitchen table in silence as Will fiddled with her cup of coffee that she wouldn’t drink- _really, the coffee maker was for hot chocolate, now she was going to have to wash it so it didn’t taste like bitterness…_

“Abigail is deeply traumatized by what she went through and though I know you already told Abigail that she could stay with you for as long as she needed, Jack approving of her being under the watch of someone that would know whether she could slip into her father’s mentality, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

Will’s voice was a sigh when she finally spoke. “Abigail Hobbs doesn’t have anyone. Not with the trial spreading her family’s dirty laundry across the news, even if the support for her is mostly positive with the fact she was about to be killed when we found her- as well as how she turned over all the evidence of her father’s crimes, worked with the FBI to give the families closure, and got a psych eval to show she was under duress... And I just- I need to be there for her.”

Alana’s voice was soft. “Will, you can’t be her everyone.” The woman paused. “When I said what I was going to say in my head, it sounded really insulting, so I’m going to find another way to say this...”

She leaned forward, hands still curled around her mug. “Say it the insulting way.”

“Dogs keep a promise a person can’t.”

Her eye twitched at the thought of the woman comparing a kid to one of her dogs. “I’m not collecting another _stray_.” 

The woman ignored the vitriol in her tone politely. “Abigail is going through a lot right now, having to have unraveled her whole family in front of a jury of her peers. I don’t think that you stepping in would do much more than set her up with a crutch. Hannibal too- you can’t just replace her parents.”

“I’m not trying to replace anyone, Alana. And having someone to lean on is never a bad thing.” Standing, she moved to pour out her coffee. “She’s eighteen and I’m sure that she doesn’t really want to be stuck in the state her father was killing girls her age at the colleges she wanted to go to. I’m going to offer a room in my house and if she wants, she can take it.”

“Will, you sleep in your living room, you have seven dogs, you’re seldom home, you have nightmares- you’re not _stable_!”

She turned on her heel, locking eyes with the woman and frowning when the woman looked away almost immediately so as not to be under her full gaze. “I’m not going to keep her here. She’s welcome to do as she pleases, but I will offer refuge _if she wants it._ It is the least I can do for _orphaning_ her.”

“That’s not-”

Will grabbed her coat and her go-bag. “I’ll tell Jack I’m going to Minnesota for a few days and offer my sincerest apologies while I call in a substitute for my classes.” She held open the door with pursed lips. “Should I even ask if you could feed the dogs for me, or is our friendship that strained because I want to help her?”

Alana sighed. “Of course I’ll watch the dogs.” Pausing by her at the door, she glanced at her. “I’m not mad at you, Willow. I’m upset because you’re just as stubborn as Hannibal is, if more honest about your stubbornness.”

Her lips tilted up.

“Hey.” The woman poked her. “No being proud of that.”

Rolling her eyes, she pouted dramatically.

“Better.” Alana chuckled softly and then stepped out so she could lock the door and hand the woman her house keys, walking with her to where Will’s car was. “I just want the best for you and Abigail, you know that, right?”

“I know. Thanks, Alana.” With one last small smile, she slid into her car, pulling out her phone to text Jack and one of the substitute professors- though she settled on calling Hannibal instead of texting.

Meeting Hannibal at his house to carpool and get a flight together, they drove a rental car to get to the small hotel room that Abigail had mentioned a few times- the girl having sold her house and pretty much had to start over with just a suitcase of stuff she was allowed or wanted to keep.

Will stared out the window, eyes drooping.

“Tired?”

Humming, she displaced her glasses as she rubbed her eyes and sighed deeply. “It was a long flight. I tired myself out of being nervous, though, so that’s a plus.”

Hannibal’s voice reflected a smile. “If you do fall asleep, I will wake you when we get there.”

“‘M not going to fall asleep.” Sitting up and ending up sort of half-slumped in the seat, she leaned forward to fiddle with the radio. “What music do you like? I’m guessing classical. Will jazz do for now?”

“Is it going to keep you awake?”

She smiled a bit meanly. “It’s too all over the place for my tastes. It’ll irritate me into staying awake.” When the man just nodded slightly as if to say _‘go ahead’_ , she grinned and flipped the radio stations until she got to a jazz station. “It’s not a proper road trip without making my ears bleed via trumpet.”

That got a small huff from the man and she smiled victoriously, leaning back as she watched the scenery pass.

Pulling up to the motel, her magic flexed in warning and she was out of the car before Hannibal could even park, stalking over to where Abigail was standing with a red-haired woman, hearing a familiar voice. 

“-catches insane killers because she can think like them.” Freddie Lounds caught sight of her, eyes wary as she glanced to Abigail as if trying to convince the girl. “Because she is _insane_.”

“Hey, Will.” Abigail’s smile was small, ignoring the other woman to greet her. “Are you and Hannibal here to pick me up for breakfast?”

Barely reeling the loose thread of darkness about to snap Freddie Lounds in half for getting near her kid, she instead smiled fondly, holding out her arms and catching the girl in a spinning hug that had the girl laughing. “Yeah. It’s good to see you again, kid.” Setting the girl down, she smiled and then glanced behind her to see where a suitcase and bag were sitting where the girl had been waiting. “You’re packed already?”

The girl smiled a bit nervously, glancing at where the other woman was watching them. “I- uh- I like dogs?”

Laughing softly, she ruffled the girl’s hair. “Go say hello to Hannibal. I’ll get your bags.” When the girl skipped off towards the man, she turned to Freddie Lounds. “Miss Lounds.”

“Miss Graham.”

Moving to shoulder the backpack and pick up the suitcase, she smiled thinly. “You truly think I’m insane?”

“I think that if you are not insane, then you’re something much more dangerous.” The woman looked between her eyes, obviously not comfortable with being under her gaze. “I’m just not sure which yet.”

“Hmm.” With a wry smile, she looked the woman over. “Well as you can see, I must go make sure Abigail is set... Have a good day, Miss Lounds.”

Hannibal’s eyes were curious as she moved over, though he just opened the trunk of the rental car so she could put the bags in. When they all slid into the car, he looked at the mirror so he could see Abigail. “Would you like to stay here? I think Will and I both expected you to be more attached to this place, but we may be able to get a flight together and eat dinner at my house if you wanted.”

Leaning to the side to look at Will, the girl raised her eyebrows. “Can he cook?”

“He’s a better cook than anyone I’ve ever met- I would take that offer and run with it.” Her eyes crinkled, trying not to laugh. “And though I packed a book of different puzzles for the plane flight, I might end up falling asleep.”

“I’m in.” The girl smiled, looking relieved. “I’ve been waiting for _weeks_ to get out of this place.”

Starting the car, the man next to her gave her an indecipherable smile. “No more music. I’ll wake you when we get to the airport.”

Sighing soft, she twisted around to look at Abigail. “Shall we switch then? If you’re awake and I’m going to pass out, you might as well have the front.” When the girl nodded and they moved seats, she stretched out in the back seat, pulling at her updo before curling onto her side. Her voice was a murmur. “The general rule for my nightmares is if I start to scream or thrash, I’m fine, just punch me and back away quickly.”

“Poking her with a newspaper or long stick might also work.”

“You’re on thin ice, Lecter.”

Abigail laughed at the half-hearted glare she sent Hannibal and she couldn’t help but smile at the sound, holding it in her mind- letting it lull her to sleep.

“We’re here, Will!” Something poked her cheek gently, making her hum sleepily.

A hand squeezed her shoulder firmly, only letting go when she cracked an eye open to peer at Hannibal. “Up, Will. Dinner awaits.”

Sitting up slowly and blinking, she rubbed her eyes before righting her glasses. “Yeah... ‘m up.” She’d managed to stay awake on the flight, though she'd fallen back asleep as soon as they got in Hannibal's car. Stretching like a cat for a moment, she took the hand Hannibal offered with a smile that was softened by sleep and climbed out of the car a bit ungracefully. “Thanks.”

“Had you not left your car here, you might have fallen asleep at the wheel.” Hannibal sounded disapproving, ushering them both in and they all got their shoes settled at the door, coats hung up.

“Perhaps we should stay the night here.” Abigail looked from her to Hannibal with wide eyes. “Will, you said your classes were taken care of for a few days and it would be nice to have the three of us in one place…”

Hannibal nodded slightly. “I only have one guest room, but I am not averse to sharing my bed with a friend. Will?”

 _Shit. They were both looking at her now and she was too tired for this_. 

Wetting her lips, she sighed. “I could always share a room with-”

“I kind of... want my own bed?” Abigail looked at her with a hesitant smile. 

“And the kid gets the final say." Her voice was just slightly amused, rubbing her face. "Well, I guess you'll just have to deal with it if I kick you in my sleep, Hannibal.”

The man sent her a slightly sharp smile, eyes dark. “Do that and I will tie your feet together.” Turning as if he hadn’t just threatened her _(that was a threat… right?)_ , he moved away through the house easily. “Care for a drink?”

Sharing a look with Abigail, her with raised eyebrows and the girl grinning like a maniac before skipping away, she just shook her head and started after them. “I’ll have whatever Abigail’s having.”

“Wine!”

She looked up to the ceiling, hoping she’d survive the night, voice a mutter as she found the kitchen. “Never mind. I’ll make tea”

Hannibal just smiled slightly, starting to cook an elaborate meal, seeming to delight in Abigail’s open-mouthed awe and her silent amused curiosity.

Finally, the girl looked at her, smiling brightly. “So who’s Draco?”

Will inhaled her tea out of surprise at the unexpected question, bending over slightly as she coughed into one of her hands.

Abigail laughed in surprise, patting her back. “Sorry- Sorry you were mumbling something in your sleep and you said that name and- I didn’t expect you to make you choke on your drink like that!"

Straightening and setting her teacup aside, she coughed a few more times into her hand and eyed the girl. “Draco was my, uh… my fiance.” She rubbed her forehead. “Sort of. We talked about getting married often, talked about everything really, but he- he had a… a genetic condition. He- erm- he died. A while ago.”

“Oh.” Abigail sounded a bit crestfallen, her smile gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

“You’re okay, kiddo. You didn’t know.” Smiling at the girl, she shook her head. “It was a long time ago- I miss him, I think I always will, but I know he’s with me.”

The girl smiled, but it was sort of bitter. “In your heart?”

“In my head. The ferret managed to make it so I can still hear him scolding me when I do stupid things.” Her smile was wry as the girl brightened at that. “I have a sort of castle in my mind of memories and each of my friends from back then has a room. Draco, of course, has one of the biggest rooms in the whole place because he was an absolute _ponce_.”

Snickering, Abigail looked at her with curious eyes. “Tell me about your other friends!”

Wincing, she sipped her tea. “Oh, gods. Well, another good friend of mine was Blaise, who was part of the criminal underworld and, er, liked to eat the hearts of his enemies?”

The girl blinked slowly. “Did he feed you the- uh…”

“Yup.” She smiled wryly at the girl. “I didn’t ever want to ask, so it was partly my fault... but he was a lovely salsa dancer?”

“And that makes up for what he did?” Hannibal looked at her in amusement, eyes crinkling when she shrugged. “Sometimes I worry for you, Will. Then I remind myself I will be more amused in the end if I leave you be.”

Her laugh was soft. “Blaise’s mother was nicknamed the Black Widow because her husbands always disappeared or wound up dead in mysterious accidents after they’d married her. She was a lovely lady though and once even promised me she wouldn’t make me disappear if I married her. I was flattered, though I had to turn her down.” 

Abigail snorted. “You’re a walking soap opera.”

“Will Graham- Endless amusement for the whole family.” Her voice was dry, even if she smiled and sipped her tea as Abigail giggled.

After a wonderful dinner and her worrying over Abigail needlessly, she finally decided to confront the source of her anxiety head-on.

_Gryffindor up, Willow._

"I can sleep in one of the armchairs downstairs if that's easier- I'm not that picky." Trying not to fidget, Will peered at Hannibal from the doorway of his bedroom, intensely awkward. "I don't want to invade your space if-"

"Will." The man looked a bit amused but there was that sharper edge under it she’d seen only a few other times before. "Must I knock you out to get you to lay down?"

Pursing her lips and convincing herself that it was fine, she hesitantly stepped forward, setting her bag down to the side of the door. "No, that's... not necessary... Where is the, uh, the washroom?"

Pointing it out, the man sat back against the headboard of the bed with his tablet.

Taking a shirt from her bag, she ducked into the bathroom, debating her options. Finally, she just decided if she could greet Alana half undressed then Hannibal could deal with it too, as she didn't have any pajama bottoms anyway. 

_Like some insanely awkward rite of passage for being her friend._

_Merlin smite her down._

Slipping on the plain t-shirt and then folding her blouse and work pants away, she tucked her bra between the folded clothes, peering at her reflection in the mirror. It was almost strange to her how different she looked in the mirror to the scared girl she'd been during the war, reaching up a hand to brush aside her hair so her fingers brushed against the silver scar that had faded over the years. Shaking her head from the memories and washing her face, she decided she'd taken enough time hiding.

Moving out silently, she knelt by her bag, packing away the clothes she’d worn and pulling out ones for tomorrow that she set on top of the duffle. 

Will could have sworn she felt the back of her neck prickle, but when she glanced back Hannibal was still engrossed in whatever he was reading. Standing again, she moved to the edge of the bed, glancing at where the man was still in his immaculate suit. 

"You're not intruding, Will." He glanced at her, eyes faintly amused. "I would not have offered if the idea made me uncomfortable. Are we not friends?"

"Alright, alright. Yes, we're friends and even though that’s manipulative, I understand where you’re coming from trying to get me to stop overthinking things." Huffing, she pulled at the light covers so she could slip underneath, yawning into her hand as Hannibal clicked off the tablet and stood to turn off his lamp, the only light remaining being from the bathroom. Turning onto her side and curling up around herself, her eyes fell closed. "G'night, Hannibal."

"Goodnight, Will."

_“Kill the spare!”_

Waking up with a scream stuck in her throat, she stared up at the ceiling that wasn’t hers, wiping a tear from her cheek. There was a weight across her midsection and she looked down to see that one of Hannibal’s arms was laid across her waist and up to her shoulder as if dead weight to keep her from moving.

Will wondered idly if that had been an unconscious reaction to her nightmare, trying to keep her from thrashing, but brushed that thought aside after only a moment. 

_People didn't have that type of instinctual reaction to each other- she was just being a hopeless romantic again and that wasn't productive._

Levitating his arm with a flick of her finger so she could slide silently from the bed, she set a pillow under his arm so he wouldn’t wake. Moving through the house silently, her magic danced around her as she made her way through the halls and into the backyard after pulling on her longer jacket- a ghost of a person in the moonlight.

Standing in the wet grass staring at the stars, she lost herself to her mind, a soft song from a funeral long past seeming to echo on the wind.

“Will.”

Turning slowly, probably looking dazed and lost, she looked at Hannibal and then back up at the sky. 

The stars had gone, hidden by the light of the sun.

Blinking slowly, she broke herself from her haze, padding over to the back door on aching feet while she started to shiver slightly. She wondered how long she’d been standing in the wet grass, feet numb and mouth feeling like it was lined with cotton.

Stopping her with a hand on her arm that she instinctively leaned into, the back of his hand was pressed lightly to her forehead. “You’re running a slight fever.”

“‘M fine.” It was most likely her magic compensating for the chill outside- she wasn’t worried, she often drifted during the night, lost in her head. Will drew away from him slowly, feeling sort of half-awake as she moved back to the bedroom and started to get dressed with a sort of mechanical haze. However, when she was drawn into Abigail's arms, she felt the cold in her bones start to dissipate from her skin and hugged the girl back. “Morning.”

“I saw you outside. What were you looking at? Because one of the women in a house across from us was peeking through her window at you.”

“The stars. I used to be able to name them from memory.” She glanced at where Hannibal was starting to cook, suddenly struck with the weight of being an absolutely horrible houseguest. “Sorry about that... I got a bit lost in my head.”

Hannibal’s eyes were steady when he looked up at her. “I was more surprised you didn’t wake me than I was that you’d found your way outside.”

Feeling her cheeks color at that, she looked away. “I- uh- It’s a habit. I like the fresh air.”

“Have you ever done that during the winter?” Abigail moved to pour herself a cup of coffee, eyes searching for the possibility of more stories.

She smiled faintly. “I’ve been known to lay down in snowbanks from time to time.”

Laughing, the girl took a sip of the coffee with a small smile. “I’ll have to put a bell on the door during the winter months then. Can’t have my mo- my, uh, favorite agent getting frostbite!” Ending just as cheerful as she started, if a bit fidgety, the girl just turned her attention to her coffee.

Will chuckled, ruffling the girl’s hair. “I don’t mind what you call me, just don’t let Alana hear it, okay? She’ll throw a hissy fit about how I’m ‘collecting strays’.” She smiled cheekily. “Apparently I’m like some big dragon and instead of collecting gold or riches, I collect people that fascinate me.”

“I like dragons.”

“Mmmm.” She draped herself on the girl’s back. “Well, I’m a _magical_ dragon too.” 

Abigail laughed and they both started to sway slightly, rocking back and forth. “How about we settle with a dragon with a very vivid imagination. Being magical might be pushing it.”

Laughing softly into the girl’s hair, she pulled away and spun the girl around, their cheer seeming to brighten the kitchen. “If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hannibal:** _*laying down next to Will, who’s asleep*_ Nice.  
>  **Will:** _*cuddles closer to Hannibal, still asleep*_  
>  **Hannibal, choking back tears:** NICE  
> (also Abigail 100% is the biggest Hannigram stan and you can't tell me otherwise)  
> ~  
> There's been a bunch of comments (and yes, I do read and appreciate all your love, I'm just absolutely tits at functioning like a human being and responding) about whether or not Will's going to be on trial and/or have encephalitis- which I'm going to say: probably not. Not only did Hannibal not get the chance to murder Cassie Boyle nor Marissa Shurr, but Will's magic would heal the encephalitis before it even got the chance to become noticeable :) Instead I'm mostly just focusing on Hannibal and Will creating a healthy stable relationship (or as close to one that they can get).


	8. Lost Boys and the Weight of Motherhood

Abigail had chosen a room on the second floor with a wonderful view of the backyard next to the stairs so she’d know if someone was walking up to the second floor and they spent the next day or so setting up the room.

There was a bit of surprise when Alana stopped by and she actually helped them put together a dresser Will had gotten, the woman and Abigail laughing at how Will’s eye twitched when they did something to make her hard work wobble or get messed up- Alana hugging Abigail and giving her a mocking _‘I'm watching you’_ gesture before leaving.

There were a few rough patches- Abigail didn’t want the dogs in her room and the first few nightmares for them both were especially hard- but they dealt with it (and the stairs got a brand new gate).

After Abigail had a particularly bad nightmare, they donned coats and boots over their pajamas, Will taking the girl’s hand and leading her out across the cold ground. Stopping outside a little ways from the house, her voice was a whisper as they turned to look at where it was lit with the soft glow of the lamps inside. “Sometimes at night I leave the lights on and walk out here. When I look back from a distance, the house is like a boat on the sea... Sometimes it’s the only place I feel safe.”

“It’s peaceful.” Abigail squeezed her hand.

A thin low-hanging fog seemed to hang over everything, clinging to them as they stood in silence.

The girl’s voice was hesitant. “I read the article that one woman posted about you... Did you understand my dad? Did he... Did he speak to you?”

“With noise and clarity.”

The girl didn’t pry, just waiting patiently in the chill of the night.

Will spoke softly as she looked over at the girl, seeing her silhouette against the faint light of the approaching dawn. “I tried so hard to know your father. To see him. I got so close to him that sometimes I felt like we were doing the same things at different times of the day. Like I was eating or showering or sleeping at the same time he was.”

Abigail took a small inhale, glancing at her before looking away. “Like… you were becoming him?”

“No. No, I know who I am. I’m not your father, I just knew him very well. Like a carnival mirror- I’m not anything like him, I just felt like him because of his influence.”

The hand in hers tightened just slightly. “I- I trust you.”

“I would never hurt you, Abigail.”

“And Hannibal?” The girl’s eyes looked at her, worry and secrets hidden in them.

Will smiled softly. “If I tell you something, will you not tell him? Not that I think it’s something I have to hide from him, but it’s something that would make him feel as if I’m a danger to him- and I’m not.” When the girl nodded, she leaned forward to whisper it even though there was no one else around. “I know he called your house. I know he talked to your dad.”

The girl froze.

Straightening, she let the girl have her space as she looked up at her house, admiring the stillness of the night.

“Why… why not tell him that? He’s acting like it’s a big secret between me and him.”

She shrugged. “He likes the feeling of control. Taking that from him would just make him lash out and though I’m not worried about myself, I have you to worry about now.” 

Abigail looked at her. “You… your eyes seem to glow in the dark.”

Tugging their attached hands and starting to guide the girl back towards the house, she smiled fondly, wondering if Abigail suspected just how far Will would go to keep her safe. “One of my friends used to say I must have drunk a glow-stick as a kid.”

They laughed together softly at that and settled back into the warm house with the dogs, making breakfast before she had to leave. 

It wasn’t a week before Jack was pulling her on a case, though luckily it was nearby, so with a warning text to Abigail she might have odd hours and to contact Hannibal if she needed anything at all, she prepared herself for the madness.

_And madness it was._

A family of four, left laying at a dinner table, the two girls and father face down with the mother looking right at whoever had shot her. 

The smell of decay and death had her darkness prickling, stretching up like a waking cat.

Will moved into the room easily, ignoring how Zeller shot her a look at seeing she wasn’t covering her nose like everyone else. Scanning the room, she hummed, pulling on the blue latex gloves. “Family dinner and yet I wasn’t invited…”

“Sort of Sleeping Beauty-esque, isn’t it? Like Maleficent?” Beverly caught on instantly to her thought, smiling toothily while bowing dramatically, motioning to the seat they’d covered for her to sit in.

“The rules of the Fair Folk are ones to be kept in mind always.” Sitting, she leaned back and looked across the table with half-lidded eyes. “Yes... this speaks of someone who was supposed to be here, left uninvited- and yet given the place of honor at the head of the table.” Humming lowly, she crossed her legs slowly.

Jack moved to her side. “Do you need time? What do you see?”

Her eyes closed, voice soft. “See? Nothing yet. But I do not think that it’s as much of a mystery as you think…”

The voices around her faded as if she was slipping underwater, the chill of the veil coming up to meet her like an icy lake this time.

 _“Jessie! Jessie, oh baby, we’ve missed you!”_ Relief colored the mother's tone as she opened the door of the house.

A small girl was running at her with bright eyes, greeting someone familiar, the scenery of something out of a picture-perfect family reunion. _“Jessie!”_

She could see herself- _but was it herself or was it this ‘Jessie’?_ \- pull out a gun, stopping the girl. _“Sit back down.”_ Her lips curled into a sneer. _“You better eat your vegetables or no sweets.”_ The taunt was mocking.

 _“Kill them.”_ A woman’s voice, unfamiliar, brushed against her ear. _“We can be a real family then.”_

Gunshots. 

The father and two daughters laid, dead, the mother staring at her- saddened but accepting. 

Her hand wavered.

_“Kill her.”_

She pulled the trigger.

Coming up this time left Will numb. There was no shivering because she was too cold- so cold that her body didn’t even let her try to warm up. Pulling her jacket around herself further with stiff hands, she swallowed thickly.

“What do you see, Will?”

Reaching for her phone- wanting so badly to be able to just dial Draco- she forced herself to put her hand back down, curling it in the course material of her slacks. Her voice was a mutter. “Family values.”

Jack stepped closer. “Whose family values?”

“He said…” It was barely a whisper. “He said that we would be a proper family and at that moment I would have done anything.” She sunk back into the chair, hands clenching and unclenching as she thought of Sirius and Dumbledore and all the pain ‘family’ had brought her over the years. Of how well she could feel that _want_ from the killer in her mind for a family that loved her... loved him.

Will brought an arm up to cover her eyes as she squeezed them shut, lost in her memories for a moment.

“Will. Will, what do you see?”

She just shook her head, unable to speak for the moment.

The room exchanged glances she pretended not to feel.

“Karen and Roger Turner are the couple.” Jack seemed content to ignore her strangeness for now, as if she’d snap out of it eventually, and after a deep breath, she put her arm down. The man continued, though his eyes seemed to be plastered to the side of her head. “Childhood sweethearts. Owned a successful Real Estate business. Pillars of the community. Three children."

She gestured absently to the table of four. “Minus one... So why wasn’t he invited to the dinner table?”

Price and Beverly both scrambled to get something, Price getting there first with a smile as he read the information. “Jesse Turner- disappeared last year. Last confirmed sighting had him boarding an RV…at a rest stop on Route 47. Possible runaway, probable abduction.”

“Or both.” The words forced themselves out of her mouth.

“When misery rains, it pours.” Jack looked at her and even if he kept his voice casual she could tell he really was seconds away from prodding her for more insights.

So she rose from the chair, still feeling numb and chilled, hands curled in her jacket as she moved to stand before the family photos with blood splattered across their frames. “False faces in family portraits. Layers and layers of lies betrayed by a sad glint in a child’s eyes.”

Zeller’s voice was a mutter. “Anyone else understand less of her rambling than usual?”

“Any signs of forced entry?” She got the impression Jack was glaring at Zeller when he asked this, though no one really outwardly said anything against Zeller’s mutter.

Beverly spoke up, glancing her way slightly as if to check in with her. “No broken windows or torn screens. All sealed up tight.”

There was no lack of exasperation in Jack’s voice, seeming to think this was going nowhere. “Yeah, they probably rang the front door!”

“I got bullet holes on the upper sections of the wall, and again over here.” Beverly pointed at the upper side of the wall opposite where Will was looking.

Will tuned out their conversation about bullet holes and blood spray, looking instead at the picture in front of her of the mother pressing a kiss to the missing son’s forehead, seeing the love in their eyes.

_Love that wouldn’t be the same ever again._

Chest aching as she wondered in Andromeda had pictures of her with a small toddler with crazy-colored hair in her arms, the same love in her eyes.

_Love that she’d given up._

Her voice was soft, fingers running over the side of the frame to feel its edges and grooves, looking at its soft emotions so she didn’t have to look at the room around her again. “When was Jesse abducted?”

“Uh, a little over a year ago?”

Nodding, she just set the picture frame down slowly. 

_The mother had been killed last._

_The only way that a mother wouldn’t fight tooth and nail for her children is if one of them either had a gun to their head... or was behind the trigger._

Hands hanging at her sides, seeing but not entirely all there, she just murmured something about there being nothing more to be seen and slipped from the dining room- another room with a woman’s scream and a bright green light in her mind’s eye as she tried to get away from the smell of death.

Calling Abigail on the way back to Quantico, she glanced at the phone when a familiar voice picked up instead of the girl. 

“Hello, Will.”

Will’s hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “Hannibal. Is Abigail-” Swallowing thickly, she took a breath. “Is Abigail with you? I thought she was seeing Alana today?”

“Alana brought her to my house after their time- she was just about to call and ask you if you’d like dinner here again... Is Jack overworking you?” They both knew he knew that she wasn’t alright, as it was probably evident in her voice alone, but he was at least polite enough not to say anything with Abigail in what was surely the same room.

“Co-parenting.” Her voice was a mutter, laugh bitten out with no actual humor behind it. “This case is going to be difficult for me and though I will probably not be working too late, I don’t-... I don’t want to worry Abigail.”

Hannibal hummed and with no facial features or tells, she was left in the dark about what he felt about that. Though when he spoke, his voice was just thoughtfully neutral. “I understand. Your cases can be very time-consuming and I believe that Abigail will be fine with staying with me for the night, as the spare bedroom is hers if she should want it.” 

There was the murmur in the background and then a rustle.

“Hey, Will!” Abigail’s voice was bright, like a fresh breath of air to her ill mood. “If you’re working late that’s fine- I made sure the dogs were all set for the night just in case anyways.”

_Did the girl just expect them to stay the night after dinner then?_

Shaking off the thought, she smiled softly. “Thank you, that’s very thoughtful- how was your session with Alana?”

Relaxing slightly into the easy conversation, even laughing softly at the girl’s laments of how dumb the groups Alana was suggesting for her to go into were, she sat in the car for a while even after parking. Let Jack wait- she had to make sure her kid was alright.

But when there was a knock on the window of her car, Jack glaring at her, she sighed softly. “Okay, kiddo, duty calls- can you put Hannibal on for a moment? Eat well, get some sleep, and no gossiping about me, okay?”

“No promises!” There was a laugh and then the sound of the phone being passed off.

Hannibal’s voice was just faintly curious. “Will?”

“Thank you.” She looked up at the ceiling of the car, sighing. “Really. Doing all this for Abigail- it means a lot to me and I appreciate her having at least one stable pseudo-parent she can rely on when my leash is strangling me.”

“Of course.” He was smiling- she could hear it. “Though I hope that this leash Jack has been tightening around your neck will not interrupt our session tomorrow?”

Her laugh was soft, sliding out of her car and starting towards the building. “Oh, no, not at all. In fact, I’m almost impressed- Jack practically throws my leash at you when it’s time for our sessions.”

The man, she imagined, would be wearing that small crooked half-smile of his. “Perhaps that’s because he believes that I am digging around in your brain to help him rather than just talking.”

With a small snicker, she shook her head. _That was differently how she felt sometimes._ “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Hannibal.” Hanging up and slipping her phone into her pocket, she walked into the lab, setting her bag aside.

Jack looked at her in slight disapproval when he came in a moment after her, starting to look at the bodies as the others mingled idly about family and siblings joking about their families with mocking hiding behind the levity.

_She would have killed for a family when she was a kid and when she'd gotten one, well, then she actually had killed for them. _

_There was no humor in insulting those that were blood for her._

_Not when she’d never even had that chance._

Zeller eyed where she was standing off to the back of the room quietly, his voice slightly snarky still as if trying to provoke her to see what would happen- as if it was a game. “Let me guess- only child.”

Her eyes settled on the collar of his grey button-up under the lab coat he was wearing, voice flat. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because family friction is usually a catalyst for personality development.”

_Family friction._

Closing her eyes for a moment and collecting all the writing tendrils of darkness begging to punch the man- make him _bleed_ for even daring to assume that she had a perfect childhood like something Snape would sneer at her- she just stared at the wall at the far end of the room blankly and pretended like she didn’t desperately want to go home.

Beverly said something about being the oldest, Jack chiming in with his own gruff analysis of the dynamics of families, but when Price said something about middle children and Zeller defended his own ‘family role’ as a middle child, she spoke tonelessly.

“Always trying to figure out where they fit in?” When the man looked at her, she met his eyes head-on and gave him a dry smile. “They can be great… politicians.” Knowing she’d hit a pressure point, she straightened and started over to Jack, as she could tell he was puzzling over something. With one last parting shot, of course. “Or lousy ones.”

Jack ignored their bickering- just like Kingsley ignored tussles between his Aurors like a father looking the other way- and held out the case file to her. “All the victims have defensive wounds except for Mrs. Turner.”

“So then you saw it too.” She didn’t take the case file, looking at his chin instead as she looked away when his eyes narrowed, voice absent. “I thought it was just me projecting, but… yes, Miss Turner forgave her killer for doing what they did.”

“What kind of victim forgives their killer at the moment of death?”

Her smile was small and bitter, a pained thing that held back the slightly hysterical laugh she wanted to give. “A mother.”

No tea nor smile accompanied her into the stately office, just sinking into the chair and telling the man across from her about the scene she’d witnessed in a detached tone.

“Tell me about your mother.”

Will finally looked up, slipping off her glasses and looking at Hannibal blankly, tone indifferent to cover up the fact she felt like she’d been wounded and left to fester since that crime scene. “Some _lazy_ psychiatry, Doctor Lecter. Low hanging fruit.”

Hannibal didn’t rise to the bait, cool as always. “I suspect that fruit is on a high branch. Very difficult to reach.”

“So is my mother.” She shook her head slightly bitterly. “Never knew her.”

_Dead. Gone. Taken before she even got to meet her, leaving nothing but a single hunting memory behind- the memory of being killed._

“An interesting place to start.” 

She frowned as she raised her chin a bit, feeling as if she was a horse that was tugging back on its reins out of defiance against walking into the minefield he was trying to lead her across. “Tell me about _your_ mother, let’s start there.”

Hannibal leaned back slightly, his legs crossed to mirror her, and he looked away in a sign of memory recall. “Both my parents died when I was very young. The proverbial orphan until I was adopted by my Uncle Robertos when I was 16.”

Softening slightly, she dipped her head as if to both apologize and try to get across that she understood. “You have orphan in common with Abigail Hobbs.”

“I think you’ll discover that you and I have a great deal in common with Abigail.” And even as she felt her stomach twist at the thought of him somehow knowing she was an orphan too somehow- _at him having figured out she wasn't who she claimed to be_ \- the man continued steadily. “She’s already demonstrated an aptitude for the psychological.”

Will could have sighed in relief, letting herself relax just a bit as she looked away from him. “Family… is an odd concept for me. I wanted one for so very long and yet the one I had was made of lies that led me to believe I was worth more dead than alive.” Her eyes closed as that betrayal still _hurt_ like an open wound, even after all these years. “And later, after I- after I killed Tom… I ended up with another family, blood-stained and chipped at the edges.”

“Family consisting of such interesting people like the Italian mafioso you mentioned before?” When she nodded, he leaned forward slightly. “To me, it sounds like family is more defined for you than you are willing to admit if you were able to piece together your own family of like-minded people. Why shy away from it?” 

“I did none of the piecing, trust me.” Her laugh was short, mirthful. “They all sought me out, one way or another- I just accepted them as they were… and even then, I ended up running away. Abandoning them.”

The room was quiet for a long moment as she put her face in her hands. 

Hannibal’s voice was calm as he shifted further forward. “You still carry the guilt over leaving these people behind- are you not in contact with them?”

She shook her head. “I am… sort of hiding from them. They don’t know where I am, what I look like anymore, or what I do. I left when I was nineteen- didn’t look back.”

The man just hummed and seeming to see her hesitance on the subject, just gave her a thin smile. “I doubt Abigail would hurt you, in any case, as you both seem quite attached to each other.”

“I hope not.” She took the conversation change thankfully, just smiling faintly at the thought of the girl doing such. “The people that try often find themselves haunted by me.”

“A pagan tradition of yours?” The man tilted his head.

Will’s smile was small as she tilted her head back and forth as if to say _‘sort of’_. “More of a recurring pattern that I have observed.”

The man looked at her as if his staring would make her elaborate.

“Abigail told me that dinner was excellent when I called her before coming here, though she did needle me about telling Jack off for keeping me from eating with you two.” Her eyes crinkled almost fondly at the reminder of the girl’s threats to kick Jack in the butt if he kept overworking her. “And she _also_ told me that you were poking about the eclectic items I have in my house this morning when you dropped her off, as I was already at work.”

Hannibal nodded. “I was curious about the odd mix. A boat motor and fishing tools must be associated with your father, but the piano… Abigail said sometimes she will wake up in the middle of the night to play and come downstairs to find you asleep at the keys.”

She nodded. “Sometimes I fall too deep into my mind, becoming a haunted vessel of skin for which to roam my house, recreating memories.”

“Only the good ones, I hope?”

Her smile was mirthful. “The bad memories are nightmares, and my nightmares know I can suffer them just as well from my bed as I can anywhere else.”

As they finished up their session, standing and setting their next meeting time, the man looked at her with a hand on the door even as he kept it closed. “What is your worst nightmare, Will? What haunts you at night?”

“Hannibal, we are literally at the door, isn’t this a question for another time?” Her quizzical smile turned into a huff when he just stared at her, reaching up to rub at the bridge of her nose. Her voice was soft. “A little boy with blue hair, looking so happy as he runs around- I see the light leave his eyes. That’s my worst nightmare right now. That Teddy is gone and I… I’m to blame.”

“A brother? Friend?”

Her hand settled over his, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway, she then took a deep breath as if it was easier to breathe in the hall than in that room. “Teddy is... Teddy’s my godson.” Then she turned from the man- from the memories- from the shame that burned hot in her chest.

Because she knew if Teddy showed up to dinner with a gun, she wouldn’t have the heart to fight either.

And if she wrote out a long letter to Andromeda and Teddy, telling them a few of the tamer things in her life that had changed while apologizing about a million times for leaving, it didn’t matter if it wasn’t Teddy’s birthday- she needed to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hannibal:** Wait, how many kids DO you have?  
>  **Will:** Biologically, emotionally, or legally?  
> and/or  
>  **Will:** Sorry I'm late, I had a breakdown on my way here  
>  **Beverly:** Oh, that's not good. Is your car okay?  
>  **Will:** ...my car?


	9. Lemme Just Itch My Trigger Finger... Oops :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a thing 🙃

“Most of the time, in sexual assaults, the bite mark has a livid spot at the center, a ‘suck bruise’.” Will appreciated just how awkward the classes got when she was talking about this type of thing, continuing with faint amusement. “In some cases, it does not. For some killers, biting may be a fighting pattern, as much as a sexual behavior.” 

Jack stormed in like a whirlwind. “Okay- class dismissed. Everyone out!” Turning a moment later and looking at his students when they didn’t move, his voice rose into a yell. “What did I just say?! Let’s _go_!”

The room hurried to pack up and leave.

Her voice was stiff, amusement faded to bitterness as she let her notes for the lecture fall to the desk. “You’re making it difficult to provide an education, Jack.”

“We found a match to a set of prints we pulled from the Turner home. They belong to a thirteen-year-old boy from Reston, Virginia.” The man seemed to ignore her complaint entirely, sitting on her desk with his back facing her. “His name is Connor Frist.”

“Another kid?”

Jack’s frame was stiff. “Another missing kid. Vanished ten months ago- the case was never solved.”

Will stilled. “And how many kids are in the Frist family?”

“Three, just like the Turner family.” Hanging his head a moment, the man stood and looked at her the way Kingsley did when he was about to go into battle. “We’re ready to go when you are, and you’re ready to go now. So, let’s go.”

“You’re expecting a crime scene.” She knew that was obvious, reluctance settling in her chest when the man just gave her a look and stalked out of the now-empty lecture hall.

Packing her notes and computer away, she looked down at her heels with a deep sigh, transfiguring them into flats for the sake of not having to deal with the hassle. 

  
Yule.

They’d _tainted Yule_.

Sitting on one of the autopsy tables at the back of the room, ~~Hazel~~ _Willow_ could feel nothing but a faint sense of… discongruity. As if she’d unaligned herself from her body. The smooth glamoured skin, the unbitten nails, the callouses from a gun rather than a wand- all of it felt _wrong_ right now as if she was inhabiting a body that wasn't truly hers.

“Mr. Frist and the children killed first, saving Mrs. Frist for last. Same as the Turners.”

Will’s voice spoke up before she could stop it, soft and distant, eyes fixed on the wall opposite her as if it would tell her how to get back to feeling ‘okay’ instead of ‘fine’. “Not exactly the same. Something went wrong.”

“Not a single present under the tree for Mrs. Frist.” Beverly glanced at her as she spoke, seeming to want to convey the worry Will could feel around her.

Zeller- _who was only here after what he’d sold to Freddie Lounds because he was too damn good at his job-_ nodded along, examining the woman's body. “Yeah, and shooting her once wasn’t enough. The first bullet traveled beneath her scalp to its final resting place at the base of her neck.”

Jack frowned. “And it still didn’t kill her?”

Beverly shook her head. “Hydrostatic shock of the shell hitting the skull would have caused brain damage though.” When Jack looked at her and she didn't (couldn't) speak, the woman summed up the words shortly. “Her body went into convulsions.”

It seemed Jack was worried about her as well.

“Shot her again.” Zeller continued, seeming the best at not showing too much of his emotions- _and why the fuck would he be concerned about her, did he think that she would hurt him or something?_ “Put her out of her misery… but it’s a different gun.”

Price raised an eyebrow, eyes darting over as if expecting for her to jump in. “So, someone else shot Connor’s mom.”

“So who is our additional corpse in the fireplace?”

As Jack had directed the question to her and since he was probably willing to stand there until she answered, she wet her lips slowly as she found the words to explain what she had thought was obvious. “Connor Frist. He’d been prepared to shoot his mother... not watch her suffer.”

Jack nodded slowly, starting to piece it together. “Connor couldn’t put his panic back in the bottle so he got shot too.”

“They couldn’t do what they'd been raised to do...” She thought of Albus, of being told she would have to die, closing her eyes. “So they couldn’t be a part of the family.”

Her phone rang.

It took a second for her to take it out, clicking a button and holding it up to her ear lifelessly. “Graham.”

“Hello, Will. With everything going on, I wished to check in on you- hopefully this is not a bad time?”

“Hannibal.” The name was a sigh, already feeling a bit more steady at hearing the smooth cadence of his voice. “No, um, can-... can I ask you a strange question?” Her voice strained slightly mid-sentence, emotions all too close to the surface.

The man’s voice held none of her hesitation. “Of course. What is it you wish to ask?”

Will swallowed thickly, forcing the words out before she could overthink them. “Would you kill a mother before or after her children should you intend to wipe a family out in a single night?”

There was a small pause, but the man answered eventually in that same even tone. “Before. She would try to defend her children and it would be tiresome to keep her alive if I was pressed for time.”

Nodding- relaxing and putting her face in her hands, she found her cheeks were wet, voice cracking slightly. “Yeah. Yeah... it- it just makes more _sense_.”

“Do things not make sense in this case you are working on?”

Will shook her head. “No, they do. They do, I just- I’m too busy just wondering if Teddy would shoot me or Abigail first if he came home.” She looked down at her hands and felt something wet roll down her cheek, a tear landing on the fabric of her skirt. “Sorry, that-... that slipped out.”

Hannibal’s voice was slow and cadenced. “It’s alright. Perhaps we should have dinner soon, help you get over these illusions that your son would show up to do anything but sit down and eat my food.”

Her snort was wet pressing the sleeve of her jacket to her face, voice hoarse. “Teddy’s table manners would appall you.” The lump in her throat made it hard to speak. “But, um, set up a dinner with Abigail and I’ll be there. Promise.”

“Remember to breathe, Will, and I will see you soon.”

She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “Yeah. See you.” Hanging up, she rubbed at her eyes, trying to compose herself again. “Sorry. Sorry, this case… hits close to home.”

“Who’s Teddy?” 

Of course, it was Zeller that asked. 

Sliding off the autopsy table, she looked at the floor. “He’s my-... my godson.” Swallowing thickly, she shook her head and started to walk away. “I have- I have a class, excuse me.”

Beverly was the one Jack sent to get her after her morning classes the next day- which was unsurprising considering none of the others probably wanted to touch her mess of emotions with a ten-foot stick.

Will relayed her theory about the ADHD diagnosis, listening absently as the woman told her about the trial to a thirteen-year-old boy who killed his mother a year ago, at the age of thirteen.

Going with Beverly mostly to get a scope of the idea, she tilted her head when Jack made to suggest that this ‘C.J. Lincoln’ was the head of the so-called ‘Lost Boys’ “He’s not the leader. He might have picked up some things to survive, but… he’s not the mastermind.” 

The group looked at her.

She was distracted by the buzz of her phone, Abigail having sent her a text.

_Kiddo: [Hannibal wants to give me mushroom tea to cope with my memories? I said I would check with you]_

Blinking, she barked out a short laugh before tapping back a text.

 _Will: [He’s medically trained, I trust him.]_ _  
__Will: [But tell him he's going to be recounting the story next session we have.]_

“Will!" Jack's voice was short with irritation.

Her phone buzzed again as Abigail texted back quickly.

 _Kiddo: [dinner tonight?]  
_ _Kiddo: [I’m already at his house :P]_

“Just getting a new perspective, Jack.” Her smile was thin as she responded, not looking up- speaking slowly as she typed out her response to Abigail. “It’s capture bonding, a passive psychological response to a new master has been an essential survival tool for a million years. Bond with your captor, you survive. You don’t… you’re dinner.”

_Will: [Maybe not tonight.]  
Will: [Is he able to do tomorrow night? This case might go a bit long.]_

The man's voice was lined with disapproval. “You're talking to Abigail about our case?”

"No, she was telling me that she was with Hannibal.” Will glanced up at his tie, smile thin. “The mothers are killed last, meaning they want to emphasize they’re getting rid of them in specific. It’s not just C.J Lincoln. There’s an adult with some sort of sway over the boys- a woman.”

Her phone vibrated and she glanced at it.

_Kiddo: [tomorrow it is! b safe!]_

“She’s replacing them!” Price seemed to catch up as she focused back on her phone for just a moment. “A mother! She’s literally replacing the mothers!”

_Will: [Safety is boring. Go drink your drugs. <3]_

Jack nodded slowly. “A family can have a contagion effect on some people. Influences them to adopt similar behaviors and attitudes.”

“Whoever this woman is, she wants these children to _burst_ with love for her.” She remembered the sharp command when she was in-between the veil, pursing her lips as she slid her phone away. “But she believes she has to erase their family to do that.”

“So she abducts them. Convinces them no one can love them as much as she does, and then makes damn sure of it.” Jack’s voice was grim.

As the team grimaced, Beverly tapped madly at her laptop. “I thought I saw something but I passed it off because it was with a woman and I wasn’t sure but… Here!” Spinning her computer around, she tapped the screen. “A security camera in a convenience store in Alexandria, Virginia caught footage of one Chris O’Halloran this morning, he was with an unidentified woman!”

“Where’re this kid’s parents?”

The woman clicked around and after a second she looked at Jack seriously. “Fayetteville, North Carolina.”

Will thought that Jack looked like Morpheus from ‘The Matrix’, with his black sunglasses and long coat, black sunglasses over his face.

She vowed to tell Abigail this, hoping it would make the girl laugh... Perhaps she would actually give in and get a TV instead of just watching movies on her laptop.

_(In reality, she really needed to focus.)_

SWAT was efficient in breaking down the door and she followed the others in, getting through to the backyard as a taller boy to one side raised a gun. There was a gunshot, but her eyes were fixed on the small boy that took off away from the mess.

Taking off after the boy she followed him into a small pool area. “Chris, wait!”

Stopping, the boy pulled a gun out on her and she drew her own out of pure instinct.

However, the fear in the kid’s eyes had her throwing up her left arm to still the SWAT officer that had followed her. “Don’t shoot! Don't shoot, it's okay.” Looking at the boy calmly, she made sure her gun was far away from being pointed at him, her arms up. “It’s okay- you’re home now... Just put the gun down, Chris.”

The shed opened so a woman could slink out, using the boy as a sort of shield as she pressing the gun in her hand to the boy’s chest in a warning that if the boy didn’t shoot, he would be shot. “Shoot her, Christopher.” The woman stroked the boy’s hair. “She looks like your mom, doesn’t she?”

They were surrounded by a whole SWAT team and the woman was trying to get these boys in _more_ trouble?

Not on her watch.

Will knew she could make the shot, the rest was just… not dying (too much, at least). Looking into the boy’s eyes, she reached out with her magic to create a thin bridge that would work as if she was projecting her thoughts into his subconscious, letting him understand- sharing what felt like a whole conversation in just a few moments of eye contact.

It happened in just the span of a few moments.

Christopher dropped to the ground with all the dead weight he could, forcing himself from the woman’s loose grip and away from her gun.

As he did so, Will brought her hands together to stabilize her gun.

The woman registered her as the bigger concern and brought her arm up, fear in her eyes.

There were two gunshots. 

In her poofy orange jacket with a bullet in her shoulder, the woman fell back to the ground.

SWAT rushed in.

Will's hands slowly lowered her gun, the sound ringing in her ears as she watched blood start to leach into the woman's clothes from the wound. There was something wrong, she knew there was as she swayed slightly, everything seeming too _slow_ but it wasn't until her legs buckled underneath her and she fell to the ground that she realized there was blood staining the left leg of the thick cargo pants she was wearing- spreading far quicker than the woman's gunshot had.

“Will? Will!” Beverly was rushing over, kneeling and looking at her in worry as the woman moved to stabilize her and pressed her hand to the inside of her thigh. “Oh god, you- you _idiot_ _!_ ” 

She was 98% sure that the bullet had nicked her femoral artery.

A sucky way to end a sucky case. Fitting.

Her vision spotted, Beverly's frantic voice seeming to get further away.

Taking in a breath, she collected all the magic trying to keep her conscious, and then shoved it straight at the wound like an arc of electricity. She was sure that the magic would heal the wall of the artery and the muscle around it before doing what it could to keep her heart beating until the emergency personal could get to her, but without the magic keeping her conscious she went limp as the blackness consumed her.

_Which probably looked like her dying._

_She'd definitely owe Beverly a bottle of wine... or six._

Walking up groggily, she found herself in a white room, an IV pressed into her arm. Knowing better than to rip the stupid thing out no matter how much she wanted, she tried to shift onto her side and bit out a noise of pain- even if it was dulled by the haze of what was surely pain meds.

"As little movement as possible is recommended."

Eyes shooting up, she froze under the sharp eyes of Hannibal Lecter, who was sitting in a chair by her bedside.

Will almost wanted to shrink back into the hospital bed at the flat look in his eyes. Her voice came out raspy. “How- er- how long've I been...?”

Hannibal's lips thinned even further. "You have been unconscious for 26 hours. Apparently to Miss Katz it looked as if the bullet hit your femoral artery, as there was quite a bit of blood lost… and yet the artery was untouched as far as the surgeons could tell. It seems quite the mystery how you lost that much blood and nearly went into a coma for a bullet wound that went through your thigh without hitting anything major."

She just blinked slowly before offering up a small innocent smile. “I must be lucky.”

"Impossibly so." His eyes were dark, unreadable. After a moment of looking across her face, he took a slow breath and seemed to soften just slightly as he reached out to curl his hand around hers. And if two of his fingers ended up resting over her pulse, she chose not to mention it. “Abigail had a panic attack because she picked up a call from Jack telling her you had been shot. We must have sat in the waiting room for two hours until she could see you, as she wouldn't take the doctor's word you hadn't died until she was able to take your pulse herself.” 

Eyes widening as her stomach sunk, she let out a small breath of guilt and pain. "I- I'm really sorry, Hannibal. I promise I didn't mean to get shot and... and neither of you should have had to worry."

"Will you do something for me?"

"Anything." Her response was immediate, not even thinking about it.

Lips curling up slightly, probably at her enthusiasm- to which she scowled back slightly- he shifted their hands so their fingers were intertwined. Face falling to seriousness, he looked at her in the eyes calmly. "Do not die."

Will's lips curled up before she broke into echoing laughter. When she had finally gotten her residual giggles under control, she looked up at him with a bright smile. "I'm not sure I have control over that."

"You will do your best." It wasn't really a suggestion, voice flat even if he smiled politely. 

She huffed a laugh but didn't refute that, sitting up slowly and moving to swing her legs over the side of the bed, pulling the hospital gown up to peer at where her wound was all stitched up. "Not too bad at all." Poking it with a mild healing spell just in case, she looked up at Hannibal. “How about you help me charm my way out of this place so that I can reassure my kid I'm alright?”

“You’re both staying the night. Abigail helped me make a bag for you, as your other clothes were quite ruined." He set a bag next to her, finally letting go of her hand. "I'm only considering having you leave the hospital because I had dinner planned and I used to be a surgeon, so if you decide to try bleeding out again I trust my ability to stop it.” 

With an eye-roll, she watched him professionally remove her IV. Her voice was a murmur as she spoke without thinking. “Amazing food, my kid, and a good-looking doctor all in one place? How could I refuse?”

Glancing up at her, his marron eyes crinkled just slightly. “Perhaps we should schedule a longer meeting to have you take some psilocybin tea as well. An educational study, if you will.”

“To get in my head? You’d be better off just cutting it open.” With a crooked smile, she slipped down from the bed onto her good foot so she could open the bag and pull out the clothes they'd chosen for her- which happened to be her favorite pair of sleep pants, one of Sirius's old worn band t-shirts, and the jacket she'd left in Beverly's car.

_Bless Abigail Hobbs._

As Hannibal helped her into the passenger's side of the car and slid in the other side, she noticed that he was wearing her glasses. Catching her eyes, he smiled thinly. “Your phone, wallet, and gun are back at my house with Abigail. These and your jacket, however, you always carry with you.” He adjusted them. "They're clear."

Will just nodded, still feeling a bit in a haze from the drugs as she held out her hand. “Helps discourage eye-contact.” Smiling when he handed them to her, she tucked them into her pocket again.

The car ride was silent and she watched the scenery pass quietly.

Pulling to a stop, he helped her inside and when he was hanging up her coat with her leaning against the wall, Abigail ran around the corner. “Will! Thank god you’re alright!” The girl ran over, hugging her tightly.

Will held on tightly, even as Hannibal leaned the crutches that the hospital had let her rent nearby. "Just a gunshot- not the first time it's happened, not to worry. I have extraordinary luck when it comes to not dying."

His voice was still slightly edged as if the whole thing had rubbed him the wrong way, starting into the kitchen. “Abigail, she is still injured.” 

The girl huffed, voice a whisper. “He’s just upset we’re not eating dinner on time. And probably that he can't stab whoever shot you.” When she chuckled, Abigail pulled back and gave her a more serious look. "You really worried both of us. I mean, he probably told you about my panic attack, but he seemed just as bad- went all cold and serious as if he'd just shut down. Alana met us at the hospital and dragged him aside to whisper-yell at him, she was so worried."

"I... I'll talk to him later, but I'm okay, alright?" Reaching out to smooth out the furrow in the girl's eyebrows, she smiled fondly. "I can't promise that every day will be perfect because taking those risks is part of my job and I won't stand by idly if I can help, but I promise I won't put myself into a situation I don't think I can handle. Alright?" 

"Alright."

Pressing a kiss to Abigail's forehead, she let her go and took one of her crutches in hand. “So what’s for dinner?”

“Breakfast!”

She smiled at the girl’s cheer, following her further into the house. “I love it. It gives me an excuse to drink tea- preferably something other than psilocybin though. I’m already on pain meds and that’s enough for me. Though might I remind you, you owe me a story about that experience.”

When Abigail helped her to her chair at the dining table, she noticed an extra table placement, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Will?”

Looking up at Abigail, she smiled softly. “I’m alright, just… lost in memories.” When the girl sat down, she looked at Hannibal as a single tear slid down her cheek. “You set a place for Teddy?”

Hannibal nodded. “It seemed like that was something you needed- the possibility of your son returning home.”

Will swallowed thickly, brushing the tear away and smiling at him brightly. “Thank you. Teddy… Edwin would love you both- I know it.” When the man nodded slightly as if he understood how much the gesture meant to her, she looked at Abigail with a small grin. “If I’m a dragon, then Teddy was a werewolf- I swear that kid ate more raw meat than I thought possible- little terror.”

The girl laughed softly, though her eyes were pained. “Did you ever go- go hunting with him?”

“I used to play chase with him in the woods, but no, we didn’t hunt together.” Her smile was faint. “Was that one of the memories you had? I want to hear about your tea experience!”

The girl was more than willing to change the subject and she listened intently to Abigail as they enjoyed their meal.

For the moment, she was content.

For the moment, she was alright.

Waking slowly, head still fuzzy from the drugs, she found a hand stroking her back in a way that was so comforting she didn't even register she was sprawled out on top on a warm surface.

Said warm surface being Hannibal.

"Good morning, Will." The man's voice broke the silence, seeming to feel how she was seconds away from overthinking every single aspect of how they'd ended up here. "I noticed you are far more tactile when uninhibited."

Will gave a small choked laugh at that. "No, _really_ _?_ And here I thought the spirit of an octopus possessed me." Moving her hands from where they were tucked against his warm skin _(_ _and since when was he shirtless!),_ she rolled to the side to rest her weight on her hip, eyeing where their legs were intertwined.

Hannibal sent her a small amused smile. "You seem perturbed. Are you not used to physical contact because of issues stemming from your childhood? More love that you were not given but are determined to give every other child you take in?"

"I'm not doing this right now, Hannibal."

"Doing what?"

She waved a hand, pulling one leg out from under the back on his knee where it had been wrapped. Reaching over for her phone, she was near blinded by the light, squinting when she saw the time. "Gods above- Why are we even _awake_?" Shutting her phone off again, she laid back down, curling up under the blankets again. "Too early. No thinking."

Hannibal chuckled. "Of course, my mistake- I thought you would be functioning before your first cup of tea for some reason."

"Prat." The word was barely a mutter.

"Rude, Will." His voice was offended, even if it was laced with an undertone of humor.

Cracking open her eyes to peer at him from where she was trying to find warmth beneath his light silky sheets, she grinned crookedly. 

Hannibal just scoffed lightly and reached out, manhandling her into his arms while ignoring her protesting squawks of indignation. He put his chin on the crown on her head, arms wrapped around her like warm manacles as his chest pressed to her back. "Physical contact, I suspect, will help discourage further rudeness."

"Are you trying to condition me with _cuddling_?" Her voice was mirthful, even as she wiggled back slightly as if burrowing herself further in his arms.

A hum. "It seems to be working thus far."

Will scrunched up her nose slightly at that. _It was working. He was warm._ "Be glad I still have the pain meds in my system- If you try to just grab me out of nowhere like that again I _will_ kick you somewhere unpleasant."

"Understood." His voice was painfully amused, tucking his nose against her hair. "I will keep that in mind."

"In mind for what- and are you _smelling_ me?" He tilted her head to look at him out of the corner of her eyes.

Hannibal, it seemed, didn't understand the concept of shame. "Hard to avoid." When she just peered at him, he flashed her a wry smile. "You smell like ozone- like a thunderstorm. It's strangely calming."

Rolling her eyes as she laid her head back down, she found one of his larger hands and curled her fingers into his, closing her eyes. "You're always calm. Like a big unreadable sculpture." Her yawn was soft, almost like a sigh, faintly aware she was rambling. “A warm sculpture that’s... heated or something."

His huff was soft, breath brushing across her cheek. "Sleep, Will. I'll be here."

And, for some reason, those three words- _I'll be here-_ had more power in them than the drugs, as she was asleep in minutes.

Though, in the morning when she woke alone in the large bed, curled in on herself, she just wondered when the last time she'd had such a pleasant dream was.

Because as pleasant as it had been, it was a dream.

Surely it was a dream... _right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Abigail:** Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety- I’ll wait  
>  **Hannibal, pacing the hospital waiting room:** Whoever shot Will and a _slow bloody death_  
>  **Abigail:** You right, you right


End file.
